


Better Than Books

by blondefox



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Explicit Language, F/M, Femdom, Non-Sexual Submission, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, S&M, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, handjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondefox/pseuds/blondefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria Bennet wants to be a slave trainer, one who works at a big academy for luxury slaves. First, she has to graduate college with her degree in Slave Management. In her senior year, everything is on track. She’s got a major GPA of 4.0, she loves her classes, and she has a healthy social life. The last thing between her and her degree is her ‘applications’ course. Some students apply for internships but Victoria wants a personal slave with which to prove she is a capable trainer. But, when her university assigns her Aidan as a project, Victoria realizes slaves are more complicated than the books make them seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Advising

**Author's Note:**

> The 'Rape' tag has been included on this work due to the power difference between my two protagonists. I will not be writing any explicit rape scenes in this work. 
> 
> Despite being an avid reader of slave fic, I have never written my own. I have certainly never put any of my writing online. Thus, I'm a little excited about this project. Hopefully someone else can enjoy it as well.

 

Victoria Bennet let her eyes wander as the adviser looked over her transcripts. The academic advising office was larger than most. It was a corner office, one side of it paneled with windows that looked down on the Royal University of Longdale campus. Her adviser’s wooden desk was set away from the window, presumably so he could see out of them during the day. Vic sat in a wooden chair with red cushions, the windows at her back.

 

The senior adviser was a middle-aged man with black hair and a pair of thin glasses. His mouth was just a little too large for his face, but it was well-matched to his thick eyebrows. Like most of the staff and students at RUL, he dressed well. He wore a black suit, only a little darker than his hair, even for a typical day at the university. Vic was similarly dressed for an office rather than a classroom. RUL was the go-to university for the children of noble families and as such the school was more of a networking sphere than a college.

 

“It looks like everything is in order, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Knite said as he check off the last box. “All you need is one more advanced requirement, one elective, and your application courses. You can graduate next semester.”

 

That was her cue, and Vic sat up a little straighter.

 

“I’m enrolled in SLV 4404, and would like to take SLV 3834 as my last elective.”

 

“Okay,” Mr. Knite marked those on her academic report. “What do you have planned for your application credit, Victoria?”

 

“I go by Vic, actually. And, I’m planning to apply for funded independent study by the school,” Vic explained. She began to fish the folded application out of her bag. She had already filled out the six-page packet, and was feeling confident about her chances. She’d made A’s in every class and had been able to provide two glowing letters of recommendation from Professor Alex James and Professor Vanessa Kilgrove, two well-respected members of the faculty.

 

“Funded individual study” was the university’s coded way of saying the Slave Management Department would buy ten applicants a personal slave. The applicants were required to be enrolled in both application classes. The university’s program replaced the internship requirement and the students got to keep their slaves. The program was the entire reason Vic had applied to Longdale in the first place, despite it being the oldest and most expensive university in the nation. Vic paid her way with lots of loans and scholarships. And, if she could ace her independent study, she would have a guaranteed career out of college.

 

“Vic, huh?” Mr. Knite mused. “That’s an unusual nickname for a girl.”

 

“Yeah,” Vic smiled. “I was a big tomboy as a kid. The nickname stuck.”

 

There wasn’t much evidence left of Vic’s tomboy preteen years. She wore pink lipstick and stylish shoes and carried a purse the size of a toddler. The only trace of her tomboy phase was the nickname her grandfather gave her to indulge her rejection of femininity. Even ten years later, ‘Vicky’ or ‘Victoria’ sounded wrong to her, even as she wore heels and flower-print dresses.

 

Mr. Knite looked over her application forms and skimmed her recommendation letters.

 

“It looks like you’re all prepared. I assume you understand the way the application courses will work?”

 

“I think so,” Vic said. “But to be sure, the ‘Directed Individual Study’ course is the one that I take if I have a slave or internship. The ‘Augmented Research’ course is the record I have to keep to prove I did the work.”

 

“That’s right. I’m going to give you this packet anyway.” Mr. Knite slid a stack of papers, held together with an orange paper clip, across the desk. “Look through that over winter break while your application is being processed. You’ll know whether or not you’ve been accepted by the first week of January. Just between us, I think you should feel pretty confident. Professor Kilgrove is very picky with her recommendation letters, and you have a good standing within the department. But, hundreds of kids apply for this and only ten get selected. I would have a backup internship, or you run the risk of being unable to graduate next semester. And, of course, there is the concern about finances,” Mr. Knite said. His black eyes pierced Vic through his glasses, searching for any sign of hesitancy. There was none to find. Vic had worked too hard for this to feel uncertain at the last step.

 

“I received another scholarship, and I have money saved up from my job.”

 

Mr. Knite raised a dark eyebrow.

 

“You have a job? Will you have time to care for a full-time slave?”

 

“I turned in my two weeks’ notice last week. I will not be returning to work after winter vacation so that I can focus on doing well in the program.”

 

The man sighed and leaned back into his office chair. He leafed through Vic’s application a second time. She waited, hands folded in her lap, while her adviser checked to make sure all was in order. She resisted the urge to fidget and distracted herself by scanning the books on Mr. Knite’s shelf. _Tips and Tricks for Modern Slave Owners. Peculiar Pets. The Arts of Discipline._

 

Not for the first time, Vic felt a bolt of excitement. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford a slave. They were like cars; prices ranged from hundreds to millions and even lower middle-class families could have more than one. But, she’d never been in the right circumstances to invest in her own slave. All went well, and the university would buy one for her.

 

Mr. Knite handed back Vic’s application packet, a smile broadened his already wide mouth.

 

“Take that to the department head, Vic, and we’ll see you in spring.”

 


	2. Home

** **

 

**Vic** drove her car around the side of Olivia’s house to the garage hidden in the back. Technically, Olivia wouldn’t have minded if Vic called it “their house." After all, they both lived in it. It was Olivia’s parents, though, who had purchased it, and they didn’t make Vic pay rent. After all, her family grossed less than 500,000 a year. In the eyes of Lady Olivia Goldres, that was poor.

 

If Vic had a little more money to spend, she would have insisted on paying Olivia and her parents something, on principle. Olivia wouldn’t accept anything from her, but Vic would still try. As it was, she lived in the five-bedroom, six-bathroom, two-story mini-mansion for free, so she called it “Olivia’s house."  It was the kind of house a middle class kid dreamed of owning when they were middle age.

 

Vic waited for the garage door to close totally before she let Aidan out of the car. She doubted he would run, but all the books said not to underestimate a new slave.

 

He had been very quiet in the forty minutes he had belonged to Vic. He only responded to direct questions and frequently forgot to address Vic as mistress. She hadn’t seen him kneel or present yet, but he followed her too closely and showed too much in his expressions. All of the available slaves had been in her professor’s office when Vic went to turn in her signed liability papers. It had been first-come-first-serve, so obviously Vic chose the cutest boy.

 

The first thing she had done was scan the QR code on his tag and open the digital files stored on every slave. His name was Aidan. He was twenty two, had three previous owners, and had been a labor slave. That meant he was the kind of slave who would have been ignored by the master or mistress. He would have been part of a team that answered to a manager instead of the owners themselves, so Vic couldn’t expect him to have any manners.

 

In the ride home, he hadn’t really been poorly behaved. After all, the university wouldn’t buy slaves with behavioral problems. Maybe Vic just hadn’t realized that she would be starting from the bottom. All the slaves she’d met were the poised, manicured kind who belonged to nobility or slave training professors.

 

“This is it,” Vic announced. “We’ll go inside and get you settled, then I’ll introduce you to my roommate and my rules.”

 

Out of habit, Vic grabbed her purse instead of making Aidan carry it. She didn’t notice until she’d hung it on the rack inside. She would have to get used to being an owner.

 

Aidan followed at a sedated pace, looking at everything. He peeked around each corner as they walked inside. Vic wished she could get into his head. 

 

The tiled hall that ran from the garage passed the laundry room and the walk-in pantry, and opened into the kitchen. Rich dark wooden cabinets ran over the counter, framing either side of the chrome stove and the dark wood island. The wall above and behind the cabinets was painted a rich burgundy and stainless steel pots and pans hung from a rack hanging over the island. The kitchen windows looked out over the pool and gardens, which glimmered on such a sunny day.

 

“This is the kitchen,” Vic announced, and she watched Aidan to see him take in the house. The first floor was an open design. The kitchen, living room, dining room, and sitting room were all divided by half-walls or arches. The study and two bathrooms on the lower floor were the only rooms totally closed off.

Well, ‘study’ was maybe the wrong term. Once upon a time that room had been a study, but Olivia, being at school more to network with other nobility and less for the academics, had converted it into a rec room.

 

“I’ll show you your room and then give you a tour. Have you eaten?” Vic asked. She wandered over to the chrome fridge to fish out lunch meat and cheese. Eventually, she would have Aidan fixing her lunch, but she could wait until he settled.

 

“I…no. I mean, yes. I had breakfast. I have my own room?” Aidan said, floundering from one question to another.

 

Vic looked up at her slave—her slave!—annoyed. Even a gang worker should know how to address his owner, right? She pursed her lips and the boy had the audacity to raise a dark brow. His lips twisted down and his brown eyes raked over her again.

 

_Control it,_ Vic thought, _we’ll begin after lunch_.

 

“Sit there,” Vic commanded, gesturing to the wooden table in the breakfast nook. “I’m going to make us both lunch, and then we’re going to talk about my expectations for you.”

 

Aidan’s expression smoothed back out and he sat at the table quietly. He stared out the kitchen windows the same way he’d stared out the car windows. He was so expressive that Vic should have had a much easier time deciphering what he was thinking, but no luck. Unsettled, she fixed them both sandwiches and a plate of carrot sticks. She was just ready to set them on the table and begin her lecture when Olivia darted down the stairs.

 

“You’re home!” she gasped. Olivia’s blonde head swiveled from Vic to Aidan and a predatory gleam spread across her face.

 

“Oh, he is pretty,” she purred. Once again Aidan flushed and looked at his hands.

 

Vic set the plates on the table and gestured for Aidan to stand.

 

“Aidan, this is Lady Olivia Goldres. She owns this house and you will treat her with the respect befitting a noblewoman.”

 

Aidan shifted uncomfortably. He turned his eyes down to his bare feet and he murmured, “My lady.”

 

_In the name of the holy Mother_ , Vic thought, _at least he knows that_.

 

“Kneel,” she prompted. Aidan gave her a startled look before settling clumsily to his knees. He used to hand to brace against the tile and sat awkwardly on his heels.

 

Olivia actually laughed, “You have your work cut out for you.”

 

“Don’t fluster him. Aidan, get up and eat.”

 

Olivia prowled into the kitchen, keeping her brown eyes on Aidan. Vic could hardly blame her. He was pretty to look at. His work had left him leanly muscled, the kind of strength that comes from hauling furniture rather than pumping weights. He was fit, though not as attractively muscular as some male slaves. His skin had just the lightest flush of tan, and most of his body was exposed by the thin, cotton tunic he wore. He had dark brown eyes and hair, thick brows, and a sharp jawline. He also had body hair, which was not currently in fashion for high class slaves, but easy to remove.

 

“How was class, Vic?” Olivia asked, not quite achieving a conversational tone. Her eyes undressed Aidan as he ate, and Vic could see it made him uncomfortable. Being looked at was something he was going to have to get used to if Vic was going to convert him to a luxury slave.

 

“I only had one today, the applications class. I just had to go sign a bunch of ownership and liability forms and pick up my syllabus and Aidan. I take it you didn’t have class?”

 

Olivia wasn’t dressed for campus. As cute as her turquoise bangles and white lace dress were, they were not the professional wear people preferred at RUL. And, her blonde hair was up in a ponytail, held with a turquoise pin. Olivia only wore ponytails when her hair was unwashed. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, either, but that meant little. Noblewomen didn’t wear makeup. “Beauty is for slaves,” Olivia had once laughed.

 

“Not on Fridays. I planned to give myself long weekend this semester. I want my senior spring to be easy.”

 

Vic laughed and sat at the bar to eat her sandwich, so as not to give Aidan the idea he could share a table with his mistress.

 

Olivia stuck a hand in the porcelain cookie jar on the counter. “So, can I play with your boy?” she asked.

 

Vic paused mid carrot stick, and Aidan did too. She hummed to pretend she was thinking about it. Vic’s answer to that question would always be no. She and Olivia shared everything from food to clothing, and one time, even a guy. But Aidan was Vic’s project and Vic’s alone.

 

“I don’t know, Olivia. I really want to train him without any interference.”

 

Olivia pouted, but nodded her head. She would probably have said something if her mouth weren’t full of cookie.

 

They talked about classes and nobles until both Vic and Aidan had finished eating. Vic noticed that Aidan ate with exaggerated slowness and guessed he was hesitating.

 

 “Come, Aidan. Leave the plate,” Vic ordered.

 

*

**Aidan** cursed his luck and stood to follow his new mistress. He didn’t know what she wanted with him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He had always been part of a group, for as long as he could remember. Now? He was one-on-one with a wealthy college girl, and he had doubts he was here to weed the garden.

 

_Sex slave_ , his mind taunted him. He pushed the thought away again and again, but he could see the way they looked at him. When the guys had teased him about being “pretty enough to be a sex slave,” it had not been a compliment. Aidan hated sex slaves; everyone hated sex slaves. He had always mocked his master’s pretty red-headed slave girl, even when he secretly fantasized about her. Sex slaves were spoiled sluts who got by on looks and never had to work, and Aidan could feel in his bones that’s why this girl wanted him. He could still pray he was wrong.

 

His mistress, Vic, her friend had called her, lead him up the stairs around the back of the kitchen and onto a second floor.  A large common space ran between two arches at each end. When Aidan peeks through an arch, he could see two doors, one on the left and one of the right.

 

“This way,” his mistress said. She turned left and her beige heels clicked on the wood floor.

 

Aidan rationalized he could do worse for a mistress. She was a tall, trim, auburn-haired, twenty-something. Her body language was naturally commanding, but there was a hint of unease in her voice when she gave him orders. If she had been a fellow slave rather than someone who held his life in her hands, he might have thought her pretty.

 

The mistress stepped through the arches at the far left side of the hall and unlocked a white wooden door.

 

“This will be your bedroom. Olivia and I have rooms on the other end of the hall.  Hers is the door with the blue O on it and mine is plain.” The mistress pushed the door open to reveal a square bedroom with beige walls, a wooden dresser, a wooden end table, and a queen bed. The bed had light brown sheets and a dark green comforter. Aidan gaped. He couldn’t help it. He had never had so much space to himself, ever. And an entire bed.

 

Seeming not to notice Aidan’s shocked look, Vic strolled into the room, over to another white door in the corner.

 

“This is the bathroom,” she said. She then crossed to a sliding door in the room. “And this is the closet.”

 

Aidan had his own closet. What would he even put in a closet?

 

 “Now, kneel,” The mistress said. Aidan settled uneasily to his knees. He couldn’t shake the disconcerted, vulnerable feeling that came with kneeling. His previous owners and handlers had never required it of him.

 

A quiet moment passed. His mistress looked pensive, and Aidan drummed his fingers on his thighs.

 

“I’m sure you’re wondering what you purpose will be here,” the mistress sighed. “You will be the only slave in this household, and thus I will require you to do work around the house. I also plan to train the bad manners out of you.”

 

Aidan glared at her and his shoulders stiffened. He did not have bad manners.

 

“I will also teach you how to please,” The mistress continued.

 

“So I’m to be your sex slave?” Aidan blurted before he could stop himself. He couldn’t stop the cringe that followed either. Any self-respecting handler would flog him for interrupting. And if the sour look that fell over his mistress’ face meant anything, he was in for a beating.

 

Her pink mouth pinched and her auburn eyebrows pulled together for one moment before her face evened out.

 

“So far, in the hour that I have owned you, you have repeatedly failed to address me with my title, displayed terrible posture and fidgeting, glared at me, and now interrupted me. Since you are accustomed to being part of a work group, I am going to dismiss these errors and assume you do not know any better. From this point on, however, you will be corrected on each infraction. If I have to correct you on the same thing three times, you will be punished and you will be punished for each successive correction. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, mistress,” Aidan muttered, cheeks hot. He refrained from picking at the carpet, because apparently ‘fidgeting’ was forbidden. What kind of horrible micromanager cared if he fidgeted?

 

“No mumbling,” the mistress said. “That’s one.”

 

Aidan’s cheeks burned even hotter and he felt the bite of resentment. How many ridiculous rules did she have?

 

“Where was I? Ah. No, you are not to be my sex slave. You will be a 'jack'. Are you familiar with that term?”

 

Of course he was familiar with that term. The jack, short for ‘jack of all trades’, were the slaves that did everything. They were typically owned by lower middle-class families that could only afford one slave. _A jack was okay_ , Aidan tried to convince himself, _they were useful._ Not as useful as work slaves, but it wasn’t as though he had choice.

 

“And I will sleep with you, yes. Now, listen. You get three meals a day, and you will eat after Olivia and me. I’ll assume you’ve never cooked before, but you will be expected to prepare and serve the meals. I will help you until I’m fairly confident you can do so on your own. You may use the furniture so long as we do not have guests, or Olivia and I are using it. You will be expected to kneel when either of us enter a room, until given permission to stand. You are not permitted to use any of the electronics or enter Olivia’s room. You will be told to clean my room occasionally, as well as wash and put away laundry. Still following me?”

 

Aidan wasn’t sure he was. She had thrown a lot of information at him at one time. At his flustered look, she frowned.

 

“Do you have questions?”

_How am I supposed to remember all this?_

“Am I to obey Lady Olivia, mistress?”

 

The mistress hummed and bit into her lower lip.

 

“Yes. Olivia and I will talk about what she may or may not require of you. But you are to obey her as you would me. As you begin to adjust, I will add more rules. For now, we will begin simply. You are to obey all commands and kneel in the presence of a free person until you are told to rise. Do not touch the books, game, or TVs. If you’re not sure about something, ask me about it. I won’t ever punish you for not understanding.”

 

How kind of her.

 

In all honesty, Aidan knew he shouldn’t be feeling resentful. Three chances before a punishment was more than generous, and Aidan was being treated to more luxury than he deserved. What she asked of him wasn’t unfair, exactly. But her frequent implications that he wasn’t good enough as a slave, and all the stupid rules…

 

“No, mistress,” Aidan said.

 

“No mumbling.  That’s two. You don’t have any more questions?”

 

“No, mistress,” Aidan said, clearly this time.

 

“Feel free to ask as questions come to you. Today, we will tour the house and have dinner. Tomorrow, I will take you shopping for the things you need and we’ll begin training. Now, stand.”

 

That was fine by Aidan. His knees were beginning to hurt.

 

“Take off the tunic.”

 

That wasn’t so fine, but he was prepared. He had been since the two girls had started talking about him downstairs. Aidan cast the white cotton tunic to the floor and stood as straight as possible, even if his face was bright red.

 

The mistress stood and traced Aidan with her green eyes. She looked at him in a slow drag from head to toe, pausing at his groin. She then circled around behind him. Her finger immediately found one of the scars on his back, and a long finger traced the length of it.

 

“How did this happen?” She asked. Her voice was gentler than it had been.

 

“Whipping, mistress.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I dropped a chair while packing furniture for shipping,” Aidan explained. He heard a small breath from behind him. The owner himself had whipped him, resulting in the scars. The slave managers generally took more care in their punishments.

 

The mistress made a slow circle around him, and then said, “You may put your tunic back on.”

 

Aidan sprung for it.

 

“Now, I’ll show you the rest of the house and then I have some homework to do. You’ll wait in the study until I’m done and then we’ll work on dinner. Okay?”

 

What, like he was allowed to say no?

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

Aidan’s new mistress paused and looked at him. Her brow furrowed and her pink lips puckered together in the way he was quickly learning meant she was confused.

 

That made two of them.


	3. Both Vic and Aidan Misbehave

  **Vic** sat in the groomers’ lobby while she waited for the stylist to finish with Aidan. It was a sunny, square room. A white counter ran across the back wall. Behind it, arches opened up into the groomers’ salon. The front of the salon was painted a light blue and the tiles were white. Two walls of windows and a skylight let a healthy amount of sunlight into the lobby. One set of windows looked out over the parking lot and subsequent strip mall, and the other looked into the greater store of Slave Service and Supply.

 

Vic was the only owner sitting in the shop, and she perused the magazines while she waited. She had dropped Aidan off to get his hair trimmed, and then gone into the attached store to find the items she needed for class and for Aidan. Her filled shopping cart sat unattended outside the glass panes of the groomers’ lobby, so Vic could still watch it while she waited. A hair cut couldn’t take too long.

 

Aidan hadn’t been particularly pleased when Vic dropped him off. But, nothing seemed to content Aidan. Vic wasn’t sure how she had messed up already.

 

He wasn’t a good liar, which worked in Vic's favor, but made it obvious he didn’t like her. Vic thought she had done everything she was supposed to. She was clear about her expectations, provided him with his own space, was firm and concise in her orders, and she even gave him a three strike rule. That much leniency should have the boy thrilled to be hers, particularly when it meant he wasn’t going to have to do hard labor anymore. Instead, he seemed to hate her and everything she did to him.

 

“You are responsible for the slaves under your care. They don’t have to like you, but their health and happiness are as much your duty as their behavior,” Dr. Bickley had said in her very first Training Basics class. “A happy slave is a slave who is eager to work and eager to please.”

 

Aidan was healthy, and technically obedient, but definitely not happy. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. The transition from work slave to luxury slave had to be difficult. Maybe he would settle in a week or two.

 

Vic tried not to fret prematurely as she tapped her blue-painted nails on her white lace skirt. She still had or week before she had to take him back to her professor for a check on her progress. Surely she could figure out what to do about his attitude by then.

 

“Miss Bennet?” A middle-aged man stepped up to the counter from the back of the store, wiping his hands off on a white rag. “We’re done with Aidan.”

 

Aidan was quiet as Vic paid and led him back to her cart. There was a pinch between his eyebrows, which Vic had also asked the groomer to trim, and a stiffness in his shoulders. He looked down as he walked and his flat expression was closer to a frown than a poker face.

 

“I was just about to get you some clothes. Let’s go find something,” Vic said cheerfully in an attempt to engage him.

 

“Yes, mistress,” Aidan answered listlessly.

 

Vic frowned and returned to her earlier worries. She wouldn’t be able to train him with this attitude. And, if he proved stubborn, she could fail this class.

 

The thought of failing, even for a moment, was enough to reaffirm Vic’s determination. She would not fail. Not as a student. Not as a trainer.

 

“Do you like your hair?” She asked, and then winced. Goodness, that was lame.

 

Aidan’s dark eyes flickered over to her, and then back to his feet. He shrugged.

 

“Aidan, answer me in words when I ask you a question,” Vic said. She tried to be as kind about the reprimand as she could. “We’ve talked about this.”

 

“Is that two or three?” Aidan grumbled.

 

“Two. Watch your tone. That's also two."

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

Talking was going well.

 

_Tell me what you’re fucking problem is_ , didn’t seem like it would be effective. Vic had to get a hold of this situation, like yesterday. She tried a different tactic. 

 

“What did you do for your old owner?” She asked.

 

Aidan brightened a little bit, and Vic made a mental note of that. There was a start.

 

“I used to load and unload the trucks, mistress. My former master owned a moving company,” Aidan explained. For once, his tone was a little more than flat. His face relaxed and shed some of the tension Vic hadn’t even realized was there.

 

“Sounds like hard work.” Vic pulled her cart up next to a rack of male’s clothing under a ‘SALE’ sign. Aidan shrugged, and then corrected himself and answered in words.

 

“It was not bad, mistress.”

 

Vic grinned. He _was_ learning.

 

“Do you miss it?” She asked as she sorted through the rack. She pulled a sheer black top off the rack and handed it to Aidan. His nose wrinkled, but he didn’t complain.

 

“Some aspects, mistress.” That was a safe enough answer, Vic thought.

 

“Like what?”

 

Vic found a pair of tight gold shorts and handed those to him next. She’d need to get something to go with those. Next, she pulled off a few colored robes for around-the-house wear. Work slaves and domestics wore tunics, but as personal slaves wore robes. 

 

Aidan shifted uncomfortably, and Vic couldn’t blame him. This was a dangerous line of questioning for him.

 

“Being around other slaves,” Aidan said slowly. Vic hummed and handed him a loose forest green shirt, the neckline of which dipped to the navel. She also pulled a pair of brown pants off the rack, which split from the ankle to the hip.

 

“What else?” Vic wandered away from the 'SALE' rack, into the casual section. She had picked a couple stay-at-home outfits, a couple night out outfits, and she would grab a couple day looks.

 

Aidan was beginning to look genuinely uncomfortable.

 

“Being busy.”

 

Vic decided that was enough Q&A for now, lest she make Aidan even unhappier. She put two cotton tank tops, a pair of cotton thigh-length shorts, and a pair of khakis on the pile in Aidan’s arms.

 

“That’s enough for now. Go try those on.” Vic pointed at the dressing rooms tucked behind the clothing section.

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

The attendant gave them a number and unlocked a stall, and Aidan’s eye widened when Vic followed him in.

 

“What are you doing?” he gasped.

 

“Don't speak to your owner that way. I want to see how they look,” Vic said dismissively as she sat on the bench. Aidan’s face turned bright red, and Vic momentarily doubted her decision. But it was done now; she had to stay consistent.

 

Almost predictably, Aidan pulled on the khakis under his tunic, and then took the tunic off. He shrugged the blue tank top on with the shorts, and Vic nodded. That would be acceptable for day-to-day wear.

 

“How many other slaves were there at your old master’s?”

 

“Eight, mistress.”

 

“All work slaves?”

 

Aidan threw the tank top on the floor, and then immediately picked it up with Vic cleared her throat. Vic folded the other top and handed him a grey robe. He pulled it over the shorts and then slipped them off once he was safely under the robe. Vic rolled her eyes.

 

“No, mistress. My master had one sex slave.”

 

“Boy or girl?” When Vic decided the robe fit, she put the other two in the pile of things she would buy. She folded the shorts up and put them in the same pile. Aidan looked at her for the next item, and she decided to hand him the gold shorts. They were short, tight, and shiny. Aidan grimaced and turned pink.

 

“Girl.”

 

“Did you like her?”

 

“I didn’t know her, mistress.” Aidan hesitated before taking off the grey robe. He lifted it slowly, inadvertently giving Vic a little strip show. The gold shorts clung to his groin and ass, leaving only a hint to the imagination, baring his midriff inch by inch—the dark hair that trailed down from his navel, the smooth expanse of his abs and pecs, pink nipples. Vic eyed the round cheeks of his ass hungrily and decided she would fuck him tonight.

 

Vic handed him the sheer black top to go with the shorts.

 

“Your master’s girl didn’t hang out with his work slaves, huh? Why?”

 

“I assume he wanted it that way, mistress.”

 

“How did you feel about the other work slaves?”

 

The top looked as delicious on Aidan as Vic thought it would. It was essentially clear  and clung to every curve and dip of his muscles as if it were wet. His arms were left uncovered, and Vic thought that with a little eyeliner and maybe some gold cuffs, the combo could be a good party outfit. She would have to get him used to wearing it, though, or he would be pink all night. Aidan’s shyness could only be cute for so long.

 

Vic forced him to turn a few times so she could look at him from every angle. Merciful Mother, she had a beautiful boy.

 

“We were friends,” Aidan answered. He practically tore the shirt off when Vic gave him the signal. When she failed to hand him anything else, Aidan covered his groin with his hands and pressed his lips together.

 

“Take off the shorts.”

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

 

Aidan’s hands fell to the waistband, and then fisted. He looked at her with such a beseeching puppy dog look that Vic felt like she had kicked a baby. But, this was part of the training.

 

“I’ve already seen you naked,” She reminded him. Aidan’s eyebrows drew together and his jaw tightened and he shimmied out of the shorts. His hands stayed at his sides when he stood naked before her, and the look on his face could be described as nothing other than anger.

 

Vic ignored his expression for a moment, in order to indulge in the pleasure of his body. Her eyes fell to his groin and she sighed, pleased. She had seen him last night, but she had looked for health issues and not for pleasure. He was beautiful all over.

 

Aidan had a more masculine form than many male sex slaves, built and muscled from years of labor. His chest and stance was broad, and he was more angular than curvy. The muscles of his arms and legs were firm and formed. His thick cock laid flaccid against the dark curls of his pubic hair and his heavy balls hung between his legs. Vic couldn’t wait to fuck him.

 

Aidan gasped as she reached out to stroke him. His brown eyes went wide and the anger in his face shifted to fear. Vic belatedly remembered there were cameras in the dressing room and she didn’t care. This was technically legal with a slave, even in public. And she loved the way he felt in her hand. Vic stroked his cock delicately, lightly teasing the underside with her manicured nails, and Aidan gasped again.

 

“Are you a virgin, Aidan?” She asked. Her voice came out a low purr, the lust starting to overwhelm her thinking.

 

“I…” Aidan choked on his words and Vic squeezed him harder. The length of his cock stiffened in her hand and Vic stroked him slowly. “N-no, mistress.”

 

Vic hummed lowly, and pulled a soft, thin hand along the firm expanse of his length. He was warm in her hand and she twisted, toyed with the head until he groaned. She wanted to run her tongue all over his body. Instead, her hand slipped between his legs to roll his balls. They were heavy in her hands, round and firm, and lightly covered in dark hair. She stroked them a little harder, just a little, and Aidan made a strained sound. His hips thrust into her hands, pushing the spongy head of his dick along Vic’s wrist and leaving a wet smear.

 

“Man or woman?”

 

“Both,” Aidan mewled.

 

“Tell me about them.”

 

Aidan’s breath grew shorter as Vic’s handed started to stroke his dick again. She kept the pressure even as she rubbed him, and watched his face. Aidan’s eyes were half-closed, color high in his cheeks, and his mouth open.

 

“Don’t cum until I say. Tell me how many people you’ve slept with.”

 

“I…ah…mistress, please.”

 

 

“Answer my question.

 

“T-three…ah…” Aidan’s head rolled back on his shoulders, and he leaned his weight against the stall. A flush started to creep up his chest

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and Vic licked her lips. His hips thrust into her hands, and Vic stopped. A tortured sound tore out of Aidan.

 

“Please, mistress. I want to cum, please.”

 

“Good boy,” Vic purred, and she started to jack him faster. He gasped and moaned and thrust into her hand, his knees shaking just a bit. Vic wanted to suck on him. She wanted to tie him down in her bed and tease him until his pretty brown eyes glittered with tears and every sound out of his mouth was a lilting cry of pleasure and need. She wanted to get him hard and ride him for hours, or lay back into the pillows of her bed and recline as he put those plump, wet lips to pleasing her. And she would, but not right now.

 

“Cum, Aidan.” And she finished him off. With a breathy moan, Aidan shuddered and came on her hand. His chest heaved, and his pretty face was flushed. His sweet mouth hung open as he gasped for breath and his eyes closed as his head fell back into the wall.

 

Mercy, Vic loved owning a slave. She took a pack of tissues from her purse and wiped off her hand. Then, regretfully, she handed him the next piece to try on. She wasn’t thinking about the consequences of her little game, but she had time to deal with that too.

 

*

 

**Aidan** wasn’t sure what he was thinking. His mistress paid for her items, seemingly unperturbed, but Aidan—

 

\--wasn’t really thinking.

 

His mistress had jacked him off in a dressing room. On one hand—well—he had been on one hand. On the other, he still wasn’t sure what he thought of his new mistress or her expectations for him. And the variety of hitting instruments in her cart did not make him feel better.

 

So far, sex for Aidan had been quick fucks when the master or the handler wasn’t looking. It was a bodily need filled in the ten minutes he could find time, when he wasn’t too exhausted. His first three owners had never taken an interest in him. Master Gerald had been his mother’s owner and not at all interested in her accident baby. Master Gerald had sold him to Mistress Moore when he was six, and all Aidan did there was wash plates for the lady’s restaurant. When he was sixteen, Mistress Moore sold him to his former master, to haul furniture and boxes from sun up to sun down. It was when Master Jones’ wife started stealing looks at Aidan that he’d been sold again.

 

This new mistress, clearly, had no compunctions about using Aidan every way one could use a slave. She hadn’t even pursued her own pleasure, just gotten him off and succinctly told him to finish trying on the clothes.

 

He still couldn’t meet her eyes, but he had to reassess how he felt about his situation. It had never occurred to Aidan that he might get anything out of it. He was confused. It wasn’t like an owner to care whether or not Aidan got off, much less reward him with attention for no reason. He still didn’t like the idea of being a sex slave, and he still hated his master’s bitch. He hadn’t exactly lied to his mistress, he hadn’t know her. But, he had been glad he hadn’t, because in the few moments he did spend with her, she was a bitch. Red, whatever her real name might have been, had been one of those elite academy slaves who is trained “to please” from their childhood and given the inflated idea that the training somehow makes them better than slaves like Aidan.

 

His mistress wanted to do that to him, make him one of those nauseating creatures who exist to lounge around and be spoiled. Aidan _wanted_ to work.

 

He tried, again, to reason with himself that he should be ecstatic. He had his own room, a mistress who believed in warnings and who was also generous in giving pleasure. But every time he tried to envision himself kneeling at her feet and licking grapes or some shit from her fingers, Aidan boiled in disgust.

 

He followed, shyly and a little wary, as the mistress walked back out to her car and unlocked the trunk.

 

“Put these bags in the trunk and then return the cart,” she ordered. “I’m going to run inside. I forgot my receipt and I need it if the school is going to reimburse the costs of equipment.”

 

Aidan didn’t know why she told him, but he started packing the bags of clothing in the trunk anyway when the mistress turned to run back to the store. He paused when he got to the less innocuous bags and couldn’t help peeking inside. He found collars and cuffs, a silver ring— he couldn’t guess what it was for—leashes, a strangely-shaped metal cage, whips, paddles, and canes. Merciful Mother, Aidan _hated_ canes. Mistress Moore used to cane him as a boy if he made any mistakes in the restaurant. He’d hated them fiercely and still did. Just seeing the cane, he could feel the blistering strikes on his thighs. In fascinated disgust he traced one finger along the length of bamboo until he touched the firm leather handle. Aidan shuddered.

 

His head whipped around, but there was no one in the parking lot to see. His mistress had parked next to a row of bushes, and Aidan checked one more time. No one. He shoved the cane into the bushes, burying it in the camouflage of green leaves. He then loaded the rest of the bags into the car, shut the trunk, and rolled the cart back to the store. He was standing patiently by the car by the time his mistress was back. His heart was pounding inside his chest, but the mistress didn’t look in the trunk and she certainly didn’t look at the bushes. She slid right into the car, and Aidan had to fight to keep the smile off his face.


	4. Deal?

**Vic** couldn’t say exactly when she had lost her damn mind, but she might have in order to assault a slave in a dressing room. She was quiet on the ride home, wondering how badly she had damaged their already terrible relationship, and if she’d sabotaged her entire project in the second day just because she got handsy. _You can still train him if he doesn’t trust you_ , she thought _, just not well_.

 

Aidan watched her out of the corner of his eye the whole way home, too. Every once in a while, he’d turn to stare at her, bite his lip, and then turn back to the window. Then, his eyes would shoot back to make sure Vic wasn’t looking at him, which she usually was. At one point, his whole face went a little white and his body stiff. But when Vic didn’t say anything, he settled again.

 

There were a lot of things Vic wanted to say, to herself, when Aidan wasn’t around to scare. But not when her slave was obviously so unsettled and could confuse her frustration with herself for anger at him. _I’m terrible at this_ , Vic realized in stunning clarity.

 

When Vic pulled her car up behind Olivia’s house, she went straight to the trunk. Aidan practically stumbled out of the car to beat her there, surprising Vic even more.

 

“Please, mistress, let me,” he said.

 

Suspicion made Vic’s eyebrows rise, even more than surprise.

 

“Why?”

 

Aidan looked down for a moment, bit his lip again, and his face went a little pink.

 

“I want to be useful,” he said finally. Useful, that word kept coming up.

 

Vic shrugged and unlocked the trunk.

 

“Put your clothes in your bedroom and my items in mine. There is a wooden chest at the foot of my bed. Anything that is not clothing goes in there.”

 

“Yes, mistress,” Aidan said, and bowed slightly. _It was probably routine for him_ , Vic thought. If he’d been owned by a moving company, he was probably used to taking order and lugging packages. She decided she would let him do more things that would feel familiar to him.

 

“I’m going to be in the den. Shut the trunk when you’re done.” Then, Vic left him to it and wandered into the house. It was too quiet for Olivia to be home yet. She left the garage door open for Aidan, so he wouldn’t have to maneuver the knob with his hands full.  

 

The den was an octagon-shaped room in the back of the house, next to the master bedroom that Olivia converted into a home gym. The den was packed with beanbags, a massive TV, video game systems, low tables for food and drink. The original beige carpet had been torn up and replaced with a much softer material in a vague pink color. Instead of any desks or chairs, the entire space was padded with pillows. A mini fridge, in which there was only liquor, was set next to the TV, and a stereo system was placed where there used to be book cases. A folded up ping-pong table was slid in behind the TV, where it was out of the way until it was wanted.

 

Both Vic and Olivia did their homework in the den, on the rare occasion that Olivia took a class that gave her homework. Vic’s laptop was still on the low, wooden table where she’d left it, and she settled into an orange beanbag to type.

 

Professor James was one of the leading behavior specialists at the school, and Vic had a good enough relationship with him to send an email.

 

To: [alj@rul.edu](mailto:alj@rul.edu) “Alex James”

CC:

Subject: I Fucked Up

 

Professor James,

 

Forgive my language, but it seems the best explanation of happened. As you know, I am taking the Directed Individual study course at the university, and I was granted a slave yesterday by Doctor Bickley. His name is Aidan. He’s twenty-two, and he’s recalcitrant and resentful. Those things, however, are not the problem. I am the problem. I remember your class on Ownership Behaviors and how slave managers had to act damage control on the stupid things owners did. I was hoping you could tell me how to be the owner and still do damage control.

 

I do not want to go into details, as I’m sure you do not want them. However, today, I took some liberties with my slave that I should not have taken, in a public place where I should not have taken them.  I’m afraid I have totally compromised his trust in me and that there will be no way for me to recover lost ground. What can I do?

Sincerely,

Victoria Bennet

 

Vic reclined in her beanbag, then, and thought about what else she could do. She would have to go ahead with her original training schedule in order to keep a satisfactory grade in the course, but she would also have to pay more attention to Aidan.

 

At that thought, she shut her laptop and went back upstairs. Aidan was in his bedroom, shoving the new clothes haphazardly into various drawers in the dresser. Vic bit her cheek. Big problems, first, then her nitpicking. 

 

She crossed the upper floor, back to her own room, and then went rifling through her bookshelves. Vic’s room was a square-shaped bedroom decorated in shades of turquoise and white. The ceiling and walls were all white, except for a turquoise-painted statement wall behind the bed. The floor was hardwood, which Vic positively hated for a bedroom. She had covered it with a lovely white and gold rug. All of her furniture was painted white and a golden vase full of fresh flowers sat on her desk. Her bed was shoved into a corner under the window in order to make more space for the desk and bookcase she put next to it. She’d also put her armoire in the walk-in closet, rather than let it take up bedroom space. Her curtains and mirror were turquoise, as were the decorative pillows that were heaped on her bed. Vic’s bed was honestly more pillow than bed. Fairy lights were strung around the bedroom and a gold-colored lamp sat on the top shelf on her desk.

 

Her new textbooks were still piled on her desk, as Vic hadn’t had a chance to reorganize the bookshelf. The first shelf was her notebooks, her class notes, and five years’ worth of old planners. The second shelf was her collection of her favorite fiction books, and the third was full of trinkets. The fourth was old textbooks, and the fifth was filled with books Vic had read but didn’t like enough to put with her favorites.

 

Kneeling next to her bookshelf, Vic ran her finger along the old texts. _Spare the Rod, Spoil the Slave: A Beginner’s Guide to Punishments_. _If You Want Honey, Don’t Kick Over The Beehive: How Kindness Makes an Obedient Slave. The Starter’s Manual on Slavery. The History of Slaves and Slavery in Asnia. The Psychology of Bondage. How to Train a Slave Owner._

 

Vic fished out the ‘Beehive’ book, the Starter’s Manual, and the ‘Slave Owner’ book. She figured she could flip through all of them and find some semblance of sense. She was still at her desk, reading the highlighted and color-coded sections of her textbooks when Aidan wandered back into the room.

 

“Mistress?” He said, and his eyes flicked uneasily to the chest.

 

“Yes?” She noticed he had changed into the more conservative t-shirts and shorts she’d purchased.

 

“I’m done.”

 

“Good. Take that old tunic down to the laundry room. I’m going to teach you how to do the laundry tonight. Would I be correct in assuming you’ve never done it before?”

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

“It’s not complicated. Also, I plan to have you help me make dinner tonight. Cleaning and food prep will become your job from now on.”

 

His face went a little white at that, and Vic winced.

 

“I understand these aren’t things you’ve done before. I don’t need perfection. I just want you to try.”

 

He nodded.

 

Vic’s phone dinged—the email noise. She fished it out of her bag and nodded at Aidan.

 

“I’m going to be busy for a while longer. Feel free to explore the house and find something to do.”

 

Aidan’s eyes flicked to the chest again, and Vic was starting to wonder why. He managed a terribly formed bow before he left. Who had asked him to do that? Vic hadn’t even started on posture training yet, and Aidan hadn’t showed much initiative up until now.

 

Curious, Vic forgot about the email and wandered over to her chest. It was white and had flowers carved into the top, which was deliciously ironic considering the contents. All looked in order when Vic lifted the lid. But, Aidan had looked at it twice? Was it just because he knew Vic kept the punishment tools in this chest?

 

She rifled through the contents of the chest, mostly discipline and bondage items she’d needed for class. Oddly enough, the new things she’d purchased today weren’t on top. Rather, Aidan had placed them all the way at the bottom of the chest and piled her old harnesses and paddles and such on top. Befuddled, Vic closed the chest. Something was wrong, but she didn’t---

 

Whatever. Vic pushed the thought away for now and opened the email from her professor. She could figure it out later.

 

To: [vkb3@ruk.edu](mailto:vlb3@ruk.edu) (“Victoria Bennet”)

RE: I Fucked Up

 

Miss Victoria,

 

Professor James is currently indisposed, but I am capable of answering your question, if you would be so humbled as to regard the opinion of a slave. Trust is not something one builds or breaks in a single moment. If my understanding is correct, you did nothing to purposefully deceive your slave, and such incidents tend to do more damage to the relationship between slave and owner.

 

Though I would never pass judgment on the actions of a free person, I remind you that no new owner is a model example of behavior. I would also remind you of the texts we studied in class. Behavioral theorist Jack Belton believed that no owner should compromise their authority over their slaves, for fear slaves would attempt to take advantage. Theorist Marissa Zedalis maintained that owners build greater relationships with their slaves when the owners take responsibility for their actions. I believe your midterm essay was on Zedalis’ theories?

 

Obediently yours,

Fiona

 

Professor James

Business Department, Royal Univeristy of Londale

[alj@rul.edu](mailto:alj@rul.edu)

 

Vic’s first thought was that Professor James probably shouldn’t let his personal slave answer his emails. Her second was, well, shit, that was a roundabout way of telling her to apologize.

 

Vic sighed, at once both disconcerted and relieved. So she hadn’t permanently destroyed anything, but she had been warned, very subtly, against further dilemmas.

 

Vic should have gone down to the laundry room then and showed Aidan how to run the machines. But, she still didn’t know what she wanted to say to him. She procrastinated by sending Olivia a text message to ask if she had anything that needed washing and preparing her class materials for the next day. She would have to turn in her store receipt to get reimbursed, so she wanted that right on top of her school books. The total still made her heart pound a little. She had no idea how things added up so quickly. Of course, just the cane had been eighty dollars… wait a second.

 

*

“Aidan!”

 

**Aidan** had been a slave long enough to recognize the angry owner voice. 

 

He was standing kind of awkwardly in the kitchen, and there was clearly nowhere to hide. Not that he would even if he could. He’d learned young that punishments were so much worse when a slave tried to run from them.

 

He wondered what a punishment from his new mistress would be like. She was a little woman and Aidan was used to being whipped, so it couldn’t be that bad. Besides, he hated the cane the worst and she didn’t have one of those. He’d checked her horror chest meticulously when he’d put the other things in there.

 

He stayed where he was when he heard footsteps on the stairs and tried not to let his pounding heart betray him.

 

“Aidan!” She called again when the footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs.

 

Breathe.

 

“Here, mistress,” Aidan said. Breathe. Whatever she decided to do couldn’t be that bad, not too much for him to stand.

 

The mistress turned the corner into the kitchen, the receipt from the store clutched in her manicured hands.

 

“Yes, mistress?” He cursed himself when his voice wavered.

 

Her pink-painted lips pursed and her gaze raked him up and down. Aidan fought the instinct to look at his feet or fidget.

 

“What happened to the cane I bought today?”

 

“I don’t know, Mistress.”

 

“It’s funny, because it’s on my receipt. I remember buying it, but it’s not in my chest upstairs. And you are the one who put the bags in the car and put everything away. How do you not know where a large piece of equipment went?”

 

“I didn’t see it, mistress.”

 

“Merciful Mother, Aidan.”

 

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

 

As a matter of fact, no they hadn’t. Handler Smith had never felt the need to explain when he punished Aidan.

 

“I…I’m not lying, mistress.”

 

Shaped auburn eyebrows slanted down in one of the most unimpressed looks Aidan had ever seen.

 

“We have two options here, Aidan,” the mistress said. “We can play this lying game until I lose my temper, or you can tell me what happened to the cane.”

 

Aidan weighed his options. He clearly wasn’t fooling her. The punishment would only be worse if he continued to piss her off.

 

Aidan licked his lips.

 

“I put it in a bush, at the store.”

 

The mistress’ mouth popped open.

 

“You what?”

 

“I put it in a bush.”

 

She squinted.

 

 “Why?”

 

Aidan licked his lips again, finding his mouth suddenly dry. He’d have to be an idiot to tell an owner he hated the cane. When he did not answer immediately, the mistress pulled up a chair and gracefully lowered herself into it. She placed the receipt on the table and smoothed it down.

 

“You don’t like the cane,” she said, and her green eyes pinned Aidan down. He swallowed, throat thick, and said nothing.

 

“Or, you at least hate it more than the other things I bought?”

 

His mouth quirked of its own violation. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad. His old handler would have gone back to the store at this point, bought another cane, and beaten Aidan bloody with it.

 

“Did your old handler use a cane?” The mistress asked, and Aidan shook his head.

 

“We’ve talked about answering me in words."

 

“Sometimes, mistress. He preferred whips.”

 

“Which of your owners used a cane for discipline?” The mistress didn’t seem angry, not outright. She crossed her legs and beckoned him closer. Aidan approached with all the hesitancy of a wild animal.

 

“The second.” Aidan shifted on his feet. She pointed at her feet, and Aidan took the hint. He settled into an awkward kneel that stung his knees.

 

“How old were you when you were sold to the second owner?”

 

“Six.”

 

She hummed, then, and tapped her fingers on the table. Aidan’s hand tightened on his knee. _Just get it over with_ , he wanted to say.

 

“It goes without saying that you’re not allowed to throw my things in bushes, yes?”

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

“I should punish you. That cane cost me a lot of money.”

 

Should? Aidan couldn’t help peeking up from the floor to look at the mistress’ face. Her jaw was clenched, and her fingers were drumming on the table, but she didn’t look angry. After an unnecessarily dramatic sigh, the mistress continued.

 

“This is probably going against my better judgement, but I’m not going to punish you. Not physically, at least. It seems ill-advised at this time.”

 

No one had ever refused to beat him because it seemed “ill-advised.” What in the name of the Mother did that mean?

 

His confusion had to show on his face, but she continued on after a look at him.

 

“People sometimes make mistakes, like I did this afternoon.”

 

“What?” Aidan couldn’t stop himself from gasping. He expected to be immediately reprimanded, but the mistress seemed too concerned about her own words to care. Her face was light pink and Aidan’s mouth dropped open.

 

“I shouldn’t have…well…taken advantage of you as I did. Not there. Not this soon. I’m still planning on training you, but I’m going to have more composure in the future. And you aren’t going to throw any more shit in bushes or I’m not going to be lenient.”

 

“O-of course.” Aidan was so stunned he forgot the manners she had been drilling into him since the first minute.

 

“Listen to me, Aidan.” The mistress said, then, her tone shifted from embarrassed to the firm voice he associated with her commanding mood. “This shit’s not happening again. The two of us are going to get on track, which means you’re getting over this attitude I’ve put up with over the last two days.”

 

Aidan was still too stunned to react. What attitude?

 

“You can’t lie to save your life, so quit trying. I might never have even noticed that missing cane if you hadn’t kept looking at the chest. If we can’t work together, this gets much more difficult for both of us. And, just so you know, that cane wasn’t for you; it was for my behavioral mechanics class. Also, it’s time for you to stop thinking of yourself in terms of your old owner. That’s ended, Aidan.”

 

He pressed his lips together and tightened his grip on his knee.

 

“Whether you like it or not, this is going to be your life. You can either work with me or make the most of it, or you can be miserable. Either way, you’re going to be obedient. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

“And if you hate it that much at the end of my semester, I’ll sell you to some company that will put you in a work gang and let you haul lumber all day or something. Until then, you’re going to be a good slave. You’ll notice I didn’t say 'try'. I said you will, and I mean that. And, Aidan?”

 

He looked up and she grasped his chin. Her tone softened again as her eye bored into his. It was uncomfortable for him to look directly into the eyes of his owner.

 

“I don’t want you to be unhappy, Aidan. I don’t. If you can work with me, I can work with you. Deal?”

 

"You'll really sell me, if I hate it?"

 

"Absolutely."

 

Aidan looked at his hands. They were rough and calloused. He flexed his fingers and ran a thumb across the callouses on his palm.

 

"Deal."

 


	5. There's an Engagement

By Wednesday, Aidan had his new schedule memorized. His mistress woke at nine for her classes each morning, and Aidan was expected to be up at eight-thirty to dress, eat, and brew coffee before she woke. Every week morning, he woke her at nine, with a cup of hot coffee in his hands.

 

“Mistress,” Aidan would whisper, because his mistress was equally a light sleeper and a grumpy morning person. He would kneel at the edge of the bed, careful not to spill the coffee.

 

After Mistress Bennet woke, she drank her coffee among the preposterous pile of pillows she called a bed, and Aidan went back to the kitchen to make breakfast. His mistress made him cook dinner every night, but he still couldn’t fry an egg, so breakfast was either cereal, oatmeal, or toast. Mistress Bennet liked her toast with avocado and slices of tomato.

 

While he fixed breakfast, the mistress showered, got dressed, and applied her makeup. She would come down the stairs dressed to the nines and toting her unreasonably large purse, crammed with books and papers. She would then plop down at the wooden table in the breakfast nook. Aidan served her toast and her second cup of coffee while she flipped through a color-coded leather planner and used an army of colored pens to outline her day and class schedule. She always complimented him on the toast or cereal, which Aidan knew was stupid, but still kind of liked.

 

By ten, the mistress left for class, leaving Aidan an hour between her departure and when Lady Olivia woke for her class at noon. By eleven, Lady Olivia would wander down the stairs in a silk nightgown, blonde hair everywhere, and he poured her a bowl of cereal.  Aidan wasn’t sure how it became his job to serve Lady Olivia as well, but he just figured nobles were used to being waited on. Mistress Bennet hadn’t said anything about it, so Aidan fixed Lady Olivia coffee with “with two spoons of milk and one spoon of honey.” Once she was done eating, he washed her bowl with the plate from Mistress Bennet’s breakfast and all the cups.

 

He had the house to himself when the two ladies were at school. The mistress was gone from ten to one and Lady Olivia’s schedule was proving unpredictable.

 

He’d used the free time to thoroughly explore the house, work out, and flip through Mistress Bennet’s books. He couldn’t read them, but some of the pictures were equally disturbing and fascinating. Sometimes he started preparing lunch for Mistress Bennet, out of sheer boredom.  

 

When the mistress returned after class, she was usually hungry. She forced Aidan to help her fix lunch as a way of teaching him to cook, and they ate together. It was the only meal of the day they ate together, for some formality reasons that Aidan did not understand. Afterwards, the mistress immediately went to the den to do her homework. Aidan was required to kneel on a cushion in the corner, which he hated more than anything. It was the boredom that was slowly killing him. He couldn’t stand how eagerly he waited for the mistress to mention that she wanted a cup of tea or a neck rub, just so he would have something to do.

 

Maybe she bored him on purpose, because then the training started.

 

 Aidan jumped out of his doze when the mistress’ laptop snapped shut. She groaned and set it on a table in front of her, flipping her textbook closed.

 

“If I have to read anymore right now, I’ll lose my mind,” she declared. She rose and stretched out her arms and back, and then turned her attention to Aidan. For a moment, his stomach dropped and he wondered why he complained about boredom.

 

“Come on, Aidan,” she said. “Let’s work on your posture.”

 

_Let’s not_. Naturally, he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

 

“Grab the cushion, we’ll go upstairs. What did you do today?”

 

Aidan peeled the red cushion off the floor followed his mistress as she stalked out of the den.

 

“I worked out, mistress, and I weeded the garden.”

 

Her eyebrows drew together at that and she squinted at him.

 

“Why?”

 

“I like to garden,” Aidan explained. He hadn’t thought about it since he was sold to Mistress Moore, but it was true. He’d always liked plants, maybe because he associated them with his mother, whose face he couldn’t remember.

 

“I’ll try to find more for you to do in the garden, then,” said the mistress and Aidan released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Every time he revealed something of himself to an owner, he subconsciously expected it to be mocked or used against him.

 

In the wooden landing area between the four bedrooms, his mistress stopped to wait and Aidan dropped his cushion in the floor. He dropped into the kneel she had forced him to practice eighty times the day before. Her eyes watched his every move carefully as he settled.

 

“Where should your hands be?” She asked finally and Aidan frowned. Fuck. He folded his hands in the small of his back.

 

“Good,” she said. Her voice got cheery and the shift made something warm unfurl in Aidan. “I’m going to turn on the timer, now. It’s set for fifteen minutes. Don’t fidget.”

 

Just hearing ‘don’t fidget’ made Aidan want to fidget. The mistress pressed a few buttons on her cell and kept it in her hand and she walked circles around him. Aidan promised himself it would only be like this until she sold him, and held stone still with his hands folded in his back and his spine straight and his eyes down.

 

He was wrong. Even training was boring.

 

“Let your mind go somewhere else,” the mistress counseled, as though she knew what he was thinking. “There’s a lot of waiting involved in being a personal slave. It will go easier on you if you learn some mental habits to pass the time.  Try breathing in and out slowly, don’t drop your position, but focus on your breathing.”

 

Aidan breathed in through his nose. At least counting breaths gave him something to think about.

 

He was jarred when her phone beeped and his eyes snapped open. Aidan hadn’t even realize they closed.

 

“Good, Aidan! Very good, but next time keep your eyes open. An owner will be cross if they think you’re sleeping. Shift to the relaxed kneel.” She ran her fingers through his hair again, and fuck it, Aidan turned his head into it a little.

 

He let his shoulders drop a little and turned his gaze straight ahead instead of downward. His hands dropped to the middle of his thighs.

 

His mistress did another circle to analyze him from every angle, and she smiled.

 

“Good. This is the kneel you’ll use when you remain kneeling for long periods of time or when we have company at home. The formal kneel is for dinner parties or when we’re at someone else’s house. There’s no specific rules. Use your best sense on whether a situation is casual or formal. Rise.”

 

She’d made him practice the rise yesterday too, over and over until he complained about his knees. The motion was fluent when he slid back onto his feet.

 

“Today we’re going to practice standing postures, and tomorrow it will be walking. Friday, you’re going to class with me.”

 

“Mistress?”

 

“I have to take you to class each week so my professor can ascertain that I’m on schedule with the training regime. You’ll kneel in the back during my classes, and don’t worry, you won’t be the only slave there. Then, we’ll go to my final class, impress my professor, and I’ll take us both out to lunch.”

 

“I…” Aidan gasped. Processing. “I have to…for your professor?”

 

“Aidan.” She stroked his hair. “It’s only kneeling, standing, and walking. And, besides, there’s nothing for you to worry about. He’s not going to criticize you.”

 

“What if I do something wrong?”

 

“You can’t. Anything my professor finds to criticize will be my fault, not yours. Besides, you’re doing great, Aidan. Now, let’s work on standing at attention.”

 

Aidan wasn’t certain he felt her confidence.

 

*

**Vic** was starting to think that Aidan’s biggest problem was thinking too much. He got restless when bored. He fidgeted and paced. He offered to make her a snack, clearly because he couldn’t stand to sit still a minute longer. He wanted to be occupied all day, every day.

 

Vic was lounging in the den after their training session. She still had some homework to do tonight, but she wanted to relax a little before she and Aidan started dinner. The mindless reality TV show should have helped her clear her head; it was something about thrifting clothes worn by the nobility. Instead, she was brainstorming ways to deal with Aidan’s excess of idle time, or rather ways to make that idle time more tolerable to him.

 

“Here, mistress,” Aidan said as he reentered the room. He placed a plate of hummus and pretzels on the table in front of her and kneeled back down on his cushion. His form was good, but he was too slow and purposeful about every move.

 

Vic remembered something said to her by her high school soccer coach. _Don’t think about it so much_ , the woman said, _your body should know what to do_.

 

Vic shrugged without meaning too. Practice was the only thing to help that. What else could he try? Meditating? It could help him learn to wait. Or she could find something that would occupy him mentally.

 

A door slammed and Vic figured Olivia must be home. Aidan twitched on his cushion, and Vic muted the TV.

 

“Olivia?” she called.

 

The noblewoman came buzzing into the den, looking tired and askew. She kicked off her navy heels and threw her navy jacket on a beanbag, and then collapsed into it.

 

“My phone has been ringing off the hook all day,” she groaned, and covered her eyes. “Lady Seranica Azzuri and Crown Prince Lucius finally announced their engagement.”

 

Vic frowned, not sure why this was causing Olivia such grief.

 

“Cool?” She ventured and Olivia snapped up from the beanbag.

 

“Not cool!” She yelled. “Not at all cool! The heir to the Azzuri estate and the heir to the Crown? The wealthiest family and the most powerful family on this side of the Green Sea are combining! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to the political climate of West Erivia?”

 

“Uh, no,” Vic admitted. Aidan scooted a little closer to her in the face of Olivia’s frenzy and Vic had a moment to feel a little pride that he looked to her for protection. She loved being a slave owner.

 

“The eleven provinces of West Erivia are controlled by the three great noble houses— the Florin, the Crown, and the Azzuri. It’s been an unspoken law that the heirs of the great houses don’t marry. It would give one family too much power and break the balance the nobles have managed to achieve with the Crown and—fuck all!” Olivia collapsed back into her beanbag. “My friends and family have been calling me all day long, in a panic, because no one can guess what this means once they're officially married. And, if they have a kid, that kid is automatically heir to two-thirds of the country, plus the holdings the Azzuris have abroad. And! If that kid marries the Florin heir, the entire country will once again be in the hands of one damn person, which is exactly what the War of Tyrants was about!” Olivia gesticulated wildly as she spoke, losing and gaining volume as she occasionally stopped to gasp for air.  “Meanwhile, I’m now expected to make friends with her, just in case, because she’s posed to be the most powerful woman in the country.” Olivia stopped to drag in a huge breath and then fell silent.

 

“I’m going to be honest,” Vic said. “I only got half of that.”

 

Olivia shook both fists.

 

“The country is in upheaval. We may be on the brink of revolution. My parents want me to make friends with a woman who wildly, _wildly_ , outranks me, while they are simultaneously attempting to undermine her.”

 

“She outranks you? Aren’t you both nobles?”

 

“I’m a lesser noble house. Honestly, my family is the least powerful and least wealthy of all twelve houses. We govern farm land, essentially. Lady Seranica legitimately owns RUK, and pretty much everything else on the island of Kombria. We do not share social circles.”

 

Vic ran her fingers through Aidan’s hair, but his eyes were on Olivia’s performance.

 

“Is it possible this might not turn into a big deal?” Vic tried and Olivia snorted at her.

 

“Is it possible that a giant flower is going to swallow the sun?”

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Vic asked, feeling genuine sympathy, even in the face of Olivia’s overblown drama.

 

“Yes,” Olivia said, which sincerely surprised Vic.

 

“Which is?”

 

“Whenever a noblewoman gets engaged, she throws a huge party and every other noblewoman roughly her age is invited. They go pretty much all day and everyone can bring a guest or two, and I actually think it would be a great networking opportunity for you—”

 

“Merciful Mother! You want me to go to this party with you!” Vic gasped, and Olivia clasped her hands beseechingly.

 

“Please, Vic! You’re my best friend and I hate these noble twats and I’m going to have to do so much kissing ass and I would love to have one real friend with me, please!”

 

Dammit.

 

“Okay.”

 

“And bring Aidan.”

 

“No.”

 

“You’ll have to. I’ll bring my boy, the one at my parent’s house. But, a person can’t show up to a party like this without a personal slave, _it’s not done._ And people would mock me if I came with a commoner, even more if I came with one who didn’t even have her own slave. I don’t care that you’re a commoner, I’m not ashamed to be your friend, but we can’t look anything less than sickeningly wealthy. I’ll pay for your dress and the limo and his clothes and everything.”

 

“No way. Aidan is just learning to kneel in position. I can’t take him to a party with all those academy slaves.”

 

“The party won’t be for months. You’re supposed to have him trained by then anyway!”

 

Vic bit her lip, fighting the feeling of ‘ _no,no,bad’_ that was rising in her stomach.

 

“Think about it, please,” Olivia said one last time. “We can talk about it again closer to the actual party, and if you’re still not comfortable I’ll rent you an escort slave. Okay?”

 

Vic let her hand rest on Aidan’s neck. He was stiff as stone under her fingers.

 


	6. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, this chapter took forever to write! I've started working at a magazine and it's been destroying my will to write in my free time. Hopefully this chapter came out okay and I'll be able to get back into the swing of writing fiction!

Aidan thought he was going to hate going to class with his mistress. He envisioned torture chambers and being forced to sit by and watch as his mistress whipped some other slave, but actually, the most unpleasant part was the collar.

 

He ran his finger under the leather, adjusting the weight on his neck for the billionth time. The girl beside him, a blonde who could have stepped out of the pages of his mistress’ magazines, glared at him. She hadn’t fidgeted once in the hour they’d been kneeling in the back of the classroom. She just sat like a beautiful statue and ignored Aidan’s stares. Honestly, the glare was the one spark of humanity he’d seen from her. It made Aidan grin and the blue-eyed girl blinked. She snuck one more confused look at him before she fell back into a trance. Her body went still and her eyes glazed over.

 

That was what his mistress wanted from him, Aidan realized. With the exception of the weight on his neck, he actually enjoyed being with his mistress. It gave him something to do during the day, and a chance to be outside. The worst part of being a pet was all the sitting still and being quiet.

 

But the girl next to him looked relaxed instead of constrained. Could Aidan do that?

 

“Remember, your first homework assignment is a paper on your personal philosophy of slave care. I look forward to the chance to get to know all of you.” The students started to pack up their bags before the instructor had even finished speaking. His mistress craned around to look at him and Aidan nodded. Her plucked eyebrows rose just a little, but she smiled and picked up her massive purse.

 

_All the better to hit you with_ , Aidan thought. His mistress hadn’t actually hit him or anything yet. She kept saying she would, but Aidan had gotten away with what was essentially theft, only to get “we all make mistakes.”

 

He rose to standing the way Mistress Bennet had drilled into him, and accepted her bag when she held it out.

 

“I only have one class left today, and it shouldn’t take us long to prove you can kneel, walk, and stand. Are you doing okay? Not bored out of your mind are you?”

 

_Not as much as I am at the house_ , Aidan thought. He was beginning to wonder how far he could push this mistress.

 

“No, mistress,” he said simply.

 

“Good. Don’t let the next class intimidate you. Like we talked about, just do your best. My professor is judging me not you.”

 

Aidan wanted to go back outside and admire some more of the landscaping around the campus. There were roses everywhere, but Aidan preferred the trees that had obviously been strategically planted to create a canopy in the courtyard.  Aidan wondered what foresight the landscaper had needed to make the courtyard look the way it did.

 

Instead, she led him up two flights of stairs and into an auditorium with a small stage. Aidan recognized the professor who had purchased him from Master Jones and several of the other slaves he’d been stored with in the two days between his purchase and meeting his new mistress. There were five girls and five boys. Aidan was the second youngest of the boys, the youngest being a tiny eighteen-year-old. He had purposefully avoided getting to know any of the others. Attachments only made inevitable sale harder. He couldn’t help liking some of the others, though.

 

He nodded at Mica, who was a big man for being so shy. The mistress took her purse back and took a seat in the front row of the auditorium. Aidan kneeled at her feet and fought off a bout of nausea. So many people.

 

In truth, there were twenty-two people in the auditorium. The ten students, the ten slaves, the professor and his slave. But, it felt like so many more. Aidan’s head started to swim and he accidentally dropped it on his mistress’ thigh. He jerked back and expected a rebuke, but the mistress’ cool, slender hand dropped to his head.

 

“Aidan?” She asked, and he blinked. Aidan was breathing too hard; he realized he was breathing too hard. His face felt hot.

 

“Aidan?” Mistress Bennet asked again, more urgently. He couldn’t find a voice to respond. Gently, she took his arm and maneuvered him up and towards the door.

 

“Is there a problem, Miss Bennet?” The professor asked. He was an old man, leaning heavily on a thick wooden cane.

 

“No, professor. Just a moment,” Mistress Bennet said, and she led Aidan out of the room by his arm. He stumbled a little, blinking too rapidly, and depended on mistress’ hand to keep him steady.

 

The hallway was quiet, and the mistress let Aidan slump against a cold wall.

 

“Breathe, Aidan,” she said. He took a deep breath and his vision blurred a little. He felt like he couldn’t get enough air. He clung to his mistress’ hand. Oh holy Mother, he was so hot.

 

“Aidan, look at me,” the mistress said. She slapped his face lightly, not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. His mistress’ eyes looked too bright when Aidan focused on them and she pressed a hand over his mouth.

 

“Breathe in when I tell you, okay? Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. In, and hold it, out.” He followed instructions. Following instructions was the one thing Aidan could always do, and eventually his head cleared and he wasn’t sweating as profusely.

 

“Mercy, you’re so shy,” Mistress Bennet murmured, not unkindly, and pressed a hand to his cheek. She wasn’t angry. Good, Aidan thought, because he couldn’t have handled angry at that moment. “Stay here,” she said then. “I’ll be right back.”

 

His mistress left him alone in the empty hallway and disappeared through the classroom doors. Aidan leaned back against the wall and kept breathing. He’d been asked to do one simple thing, and he couldn’t even manage that. Instead, he’d inconvenienced his mistress and probably embarrassed her and just because she wasn’t angry didn’t mean…oh, gods. Aidan shut his eyes and took another couple deep breaths. He was standing up to go search for his mistress when she came back into the hallway, her purse on her shoulders.

 

“I’m sorry,” Aidan started to babble. “I’m sorry. I can do it. I’ll…”

 

The mistress put her hand over Aidan’s mouth.

 

“Aidan, it’s okay. I just didn’t understand how shy you are. We’re leaving now. I’ll send my professor a video of you doing the moves later and another day when you’re less nervous, we’ll try this again.”

 

“I can do it, mistress.” Aidan said behind her hand. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Aidan. It’s okay. I’m not angry. We’ll go to lunch just like I said we would and then we’ll go home.”

 

Aidan couldn’t shake the guilt, however.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said one more time. She smiled patiently, but Aidan could see a hint of exasperation creeping into her eyes.

 

“You’ll feel better after we eat,” she counseled. “I think we should get pizza. Have you ever had a pizza?”

 

Aidan frowned but accepted the change in topic as she led him back out to car garage where she had parked.

 

“No, mistress.”

 

“Pizza, then, definitely. I think you’ll like it. It’s college student staple food. I’m actually surprised we haven’t had it at the house yet.”

 

“I’ve seen former masters eat it, mistress,” Aidan offered, because it seemed to please her when he willingly contributed information about himself. He still felt guilty enough to want to please her, to avoid punishment, if he could. Sincerely, Aidan knew no punishment was coming. The mistress had stroked his hair and kissed his head and pushed aside his apologies, but a lifetime of slavery taught him that failure was always followed by pain and anger.

 

“But you’ve never had any yourself, huh? We should go to the all-you-can-eat pizza buffet, that way you can try whatever you like.”

 

*

Vic knew the buffet off campus would be packed around this time, and that many of them would take an interest in Aidan. 

They would notice Aidan, but they wouldn’t be interested enough to approach, which Vic thought was the perfect amount of scrutiny for him right now. The attention would probably make him uncomfortable, but nothing would be demanded of him but to keep his head down and eat his food. He would squirm, but he wouldn’t panic. It would give Vic the opportunity to praise him for the way he handled the attention and maybe make him relax. It would be a start to relaxing him around people. She could even come up with a reward for him, since he still looked white in the face when she pulled into the parking lot.

 

“Here, mistress?” Aidan said, as he peered out the window and at the front of the building. It had a bright red roof and a patio, which was separated from the street by a fence painted with pizza slices.

 

“Here.” Vic parked the car and Aidan picked up her purse for her. She smiled, even as he glanced at the crowd leaving the building nervously.

 

“What did your old master feed you?” Vic asked.

 

“Bread, rice, chicken, pasta,” Aidan rambled.

 

“Let’s hope you like this then,” Vic said as she opened the door and let him follow her in. Like she had guessed, the buffet was packed with students. They looks up at the bell chime as she and Aidan entered, and eyes lingered as he followed her sheepishly into the store.

 

He stood too close to her, but she let him stay there as she paid for two plates. Upon entering the restaurant, it was a short walk to the cash register, and then the long counter stacked with pizza, breadsticks, deserts, and a neglected salad bar. The rest of the building was filled with tables, a small arcade in the back, and an alcove below a window where two slaves were seated.

 

Vic handed Aidan his plate and water cup. He was frowning and couldn’t help glancing at the group of girls who were still staring at him. They whispered to each other and giggled. Aidan licked his lips nervously, which made him look positively delicious.

 

“So, the way this works, you eat as much as you can get on your plate. Don’t worry about packing it with food. If you eat it all and you’re still hungry, you can fill it again.”

 

“All you can eat,” Aidan echoed her words from earlier, still watching the girls who were watching him. There was not a small number of men looking at him either.

 

Two young men slipped past Vic to reach the pizza, and she pulled Aidan aside so as not to be in their way.

 

“What’s bothering you?” she asked, even though Vic was certain she knew.

 

Aidan’s hands closed tighter on his plastic red plate.

 

“I just…” he licked his lips again, “people are looking at me, mistress.”

 

“Are they hurting you?” Vic asked, and Aidan went pink. “They’re looking at you because you’re beautiful, Aidan.” At that, he went even pinker. “If you’re going to be uncomfortable, we can go.”

 

“No!” He gasped, as Vic had guessed he would.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

Aidan was still sluggish as he followed her back to the counter. The selection captured his attention once he started to look though, and he added one slice of every available pizza to his plate. Cheese. Pepperoni. Meat Lover’s. White. Hawaiian. Vic couldn’t help but smile as he quizzically laid each piece on his plate.

 

Once they had filled their drinks, Aidan immediately bee-lined for the alcove where the other slaves were seated.

 

“Aidan,” Vic barked to get his attention. He turned at his heels, looking every bit as confused by her as by the pizza. She gestured to the empty seat across from her and he frowned. “Don’t get used to it, but I’d rather you sit with me right now.”

 

Nodding, he set down his plate. Vic took his hand.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

“Okay, mistress.”

 

“Good.” She brushed a thumb over his palm. “I’m proud of you for the way you’ve handling all this attention. You’re doing very well.”

 

‘All this attention’ was a silly overstatement, but it made him relax. It felt like more to him than it actually was, and Vic would have to remember that.

 

She was quiet, then, and watched him eat his first slice of pizza. It was just as entertaining as Vic had hoped.

 

He started with the cheese, and took a miniscule bite from the end. He chewed it for too long and when he glanced at Vic she was encouraged to say, “You don’t have to pretend to like it if you don’t.”

 

He shook his head and took another, normal-sized bite. His mouth puckered a little and his eyebrows drew together.

 

“I think I like it,” he said.

 

“Why does other people looking at you bother you so much?” Vic asked, picking her own way through her meal. Aidan shrugged.

 

“I don’t know, mistress.”

 

“Guess.”

 

“I guess…because…I’m not used to being noticed, mistress. Not by free people.”

 

“So you don’t like it because it’s unfamiliar?”

 

Aidan stalled by taking another bite of his pizza, the Hawaiian this time.

 

“Free people noticing me has never been a good thing.”

 

“So it makes you feel unsafe?”

 

“I suppose, mistress.”

 

“That’s good for me to know.” Vic would have to figure out how to make him feel comfortable while receiving attention. She would have to make him associate it with good things. “Nothing bad is happening now, right?”

 

“Um, no, mistress.”

 

“And, if I hadn’t been paying attention to you earlier, I wouldn’t have known when you needed to leave, right?”

 

“I guess, mistress.” He squirmed a little, looking over his shoulder at the couple of guys who were leering at him.

 

“You’re doing well,” Vic said again, to draw his attention back. “I know it’s making you uncomfortable, but you’re handling it. I know this won’t always be easy for you Aidan, but I see that you try.”

 

“I do try,” Aidan chimed in. His face brightened a little and his shoulders relaxed.

 

“I know Aidan, and as long as you keep trying, I’m proud of you.”

 

He grinned and Vic left him alone to eat his pizza. When he finished, she stacked her empty plate on top of his.

 

“So, what’s the final verdict on pizza?” Vic asked. Aidan licked his lips and shrugged a little.

 

“I don’t…I mean…I’m not used to thinking about how food taste, mistress,” he confessed. “I didn’t dislike it, and I’m full.”

 

“Well, that’s what counts.” Vic left their plates on the table as they left. The same group of girls  they’d seen on the way in stared at Aidan as they left, one clearly peering at his ass. Vic expected Aidan to shrink in on himself and step closer to her, but he didn’t.

 

Though still obviously uncomfortable as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, he kept his head up and his face passive. Vic grinned and remembered a lesson from her behavior classes.

 

_“Sometimes the way to deal with bad behavior,” Professor Sanders had counseled, “is to encourage slaves to live up to a standard. More than wanting to be good, it gives them cause and confidence. Praise a defiant slave for their obedience and you might be surprised by the changes you will observe in their behavior.”_

_Praise a shy slave for being confident,_ Vic thought, _and he might come out of his shell._

It would be a waste to take him home right away. So Vic decided to make one more stop before the day was over.

 

“We still have a lot of time,” Vic said as they climbed back into the car. “And I think you deserve a reward for how you handled all those people looked at you. Where would you like to go?”

 

“Really, mistress?” Aidan gasped.

 

“Absolutely. Pick anywhere.”

 

Aidan twiddled his thumbs, and even crossed his ankles.

 

“Could we, uh, go to a nursery, mistress? Like, for plants?”

 

It was Vic’s turn to gasp, “Really?”

 

Aidan nodded and looked up at her hopefully.

 

“If that’s what you want.”

 

To be honest, Vic didn’t know what she had been expecting. A garden nursery hadn’t been it, but hey, if that’s what he wanted. She searched for the closest one on her phone.

 

“You really like gardening then, Aidan?”

 

“I do, mistress.”

 

He’d mentioned liking gardening before, but she hadn’t realized how much.

 

“Is there any particular reason you want to go?” Vic said as she turned her GPS on.

 

“I…no. I just thought—we don’t have to, mistress.”

 

“No, no. I said this your reward, and we’ll got to a nursery. I still have plenty of afternoon left before I have to do homework. Why do you like gardening?”

 

“It makes me think of my mother, mistress. And, it’s nice to feel useful.”

 

That word ‘useful’, again. But there was another piece of information he had just given her, which wasn’t usually offered.

 

“You’re talkative today,” Vic pointed out, hoping she wouldn’t scare him out of his mood.

 

“I’m sorry for failing you,” Aidan retorted.

 

“And you’re making it up to me by being talkative?”

 

He didn’t answer and Vic drove a little in silence. What should she say about that? Was it good? Was it bad? Was it cheating? Were his guilt-motivated confessions some kind of emotional abuse? Vic tried to think through the pros and cons as she drove to Harmony Gardens Nursery.

 

When she stopped talking, so did Aidan.

 

She could ask about his mother, but that seemed ill-advised. All of her courses had told her it was never good for a slave to be forced to relive emotional traumas. Being separated from their mother at a young age, as most were, was a huge emotional trauma. Was it cruel for her to ignore his comment? Was it cruel to ask about it?

 

“Your mother gardened?” She asked, which seemed like an innocent question.

 

“For our master,” Aidan replied. He stared out the window, as Vic was learning he liked to do. “It’s the thing I remember being allowed to help her with. She was too busy usually, or I got in the way.”

 

Aidan smiled, then, which broke Vic’s heart. It was a soft, far-away smile that didn’t reach his dark eyes. But his entire expression looked so relaxed, like the smile of a person waking from a nice dream, or reliving a nice memory, more accurately.

 

“You didn’t spend a lot of time with her?”

 

“No.” Aidan’s expression closed up and Vic knew she’d gone too far. She let them both stop talking until they reached the nursery, where she parked in a dirt lot.

 

Aidan’s eyes widened and he jumped out of the car before Vic. He took two steps and then turned around the open the car door for Vic. He’d also remembered to hold her purse for her. As she climbed out of the car she took it from him and waved him off.

 

“Go, explore. I’ll follow you.”

 

He stalled for a second, shifting on his feet and looking Vic over once, and then nodded. Aidan disappeared into a row of perennials, joy written on his face. Vic watched him touch the leaves of a tomato plant with a gentle fingertip.

 

She had been going about this all wrong.


	7. African Violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, I know. But, this felt like a good place to end.

“Do you garden much at the house?” **Vic** asked as she followed Aidan down mulch paths lined with plants in black plastic pots. In the far corner of the nursery, she saw a slave watering some pink roses. The girl was not very old, and Vic wondered if her parent was around her somewhere. She didn’t look like she’d be much good for heavy lifting. Maybe Aidan would be happy being sold to a place like this, if he chose not to stay with her.

 

“No, mistress. I don’t want to mess up anything by the gardeners. I just water and weed where I can.” Aidan poked around some herbs, seeming to examine the roots.Olivia had professional lawn care and gardening tend to the house every week.

 

“Perhaps with you around, Olivia will stop needing them,” Vic suggested.

 

Aidan shook his head. “I would never take a job from a free person, mistress.”

 

So much for that possibility, though Vic shouldn’t have been surprised to find a labor slave hesitant to take a free person’s job. Slaves filled many of the unskilled labor positions that might otherwise be worked by free people, which made them unpopular among the poor. Stealing a free person’s job was definitely something Aidan linked with trouble. Vic would have to find another way to satisfy this whim of his and make him feel useful.

 

“Then perhaps you could help,” she compromised. She let Aidan browse through herbs and annuals and back into the air-conditioned part of the store with pots and seeds.

 

A vase of fresh cut flowers sitting at the cash register gave her an idea.

 

Aidan picked up a ceramic pot for no apparent reason other than to look at it and Vic pretended to look at flower seeds, waiting for him to notice. He glanced at her serendipitously first, and then looked closer. When his bravery seemed to suit him, he asked, “Flowers, mistress?”

 

“I’ve always wanted to keep a pot of flowers in my room, but I never have the time to take care of them. It’s a shame, they would add such color.”

 

As she hoped he would, Aidan’s eyes immediately perked up and his brown eyes sparkled.

 

“I could look after them, if you wanted me to,” He volunteered emphatically. Vic fought to keep from grinning, and frowned instead.

 

“Are you sure? I would love that, but I’m not demanding it of you.”

 

“No, no. I want to, mistress.” He caught himself. “I mean, if it pleases you.”

 

Vic did grin then, and she kissed him lightly on the forehead.

 

“Then we should pick out a plant.”

*

  **Aidan** rode home with a pot of African violets in his lap and a giddy grin on his face. He shouldn’t have been so emotive around his owner, but the mistress didn’t seem displeased. In fact, she kept looking at him and smiling. And, she’d taken him to the nursery in the first place because she wanted to reward him, right? So she wouldn’t find it impudent that he kept smiling, right?

 

The place where she’d kissed his forehead still tingled, and Aidan was having a hard time remembering what he’d hated about the way she touched his hair. So, she pet him a lot, but she didn’t treat him flippantly. He’d thought all owners cooed at pets in the terrible baby voice Master Jones had used for his girl, but his mistress talked to him normally. She even let him pick what flowers to put in her room. Aidan caught himself grinning again.

 

The mistress’ auburn eyebrow raised, but she chuckled.

 

“I’m glad to see you so happy,” she said and Aidan grinned wider. He didn’t even have to worry about smiling with this owner.  

 

“Thank you for trusting me with this, mistress,” Aidan tried to say respectfully, but couldn’t manage the serious tone he’d wanted.

 

Both of Mistress Bennet’s eyebrows raised then, and her pink lips turned up in a crooked, half smile.

 

“I have faith you’ll take good care of the violets, Aidan.” She pat his knee before returning her hands to the steering wheel.

 

Mistress Bennet touched him a lot, not sexually, not since the dressing room, but often. She held his arm when he panicked at the classroom, stroked his palm at the pizza place, kissed his head at the nursery, and touched his knee in the car. Not to mention the way she typically stroked his hair. Her touch made his skin tingle and he couldn’t separate the physical sensation from the satisfaction of being a good slave.

 

He looked at his mistress again, closer than he had before. One of the first things he’d thought about her was that she could have been pretty if she wasn’t his owner. He was less afraid of her now than he had been then. She looked less severe and more human, less like the looming ‘owner’ figure and more like…well…Victoria Bennet.

 

He knew she was attracted to him, and making her happy got him pots of violets. The one time she had touched him, she hadn’t really hurt him or anything, and she hadn’t even fussed over her needs. Did he want her touch him? Did he like her touch or the sense of having pleased her?

 

“You stopped smiling,” Mistress Bennet pointed out as she drove them into a part of town Aidan recognized.

 

“I was thinking, mistress.”

 

“Not about the violets, clearly.”

 

He laughed nervously before he could stop himself.

 

“What were you thinking about?”

 

He couldn’t answer that honestly, but did he dare lie? He didn’t usually get away with it with this mistress, probably because she was the only one who paid enough attention to him. He decided to test something.

 

“I, um, don’t want to say, mistress.”

 

Mistress Bennet pressed her lips together and Aidan was afraid that he’d overstepped and ruined everything.

 

“Can I ask why?”

 

Aidan didn’t process it, at first. He stared at her blankly. She should have slapped him for refusing to answer a question. He was still waiting for the blow. Bafflingly, unimaginably, inconceivably, she asked for his permission to…to…explain his impudence. Against his will, Aidan teared up.

 

“Mother’s Wrath, Aidan!” The mistress gasped. “What in the world is the matter with you?”

 

“I don’t deserve...I’m sorry.”

 

Mistress Bennet squinted at the road.

 

“You have to be more specific,” she said.

 

“Why don’t you punish me?”

 

The mistress’ head whipped towards him so fast she almost missed the red light and had to slam on her break before speeding out into the intersection. Aidan braced his hands on the dash to keep from smashing his face into it.

 

“What?” she gasped.

 

“I threw your cane in a bush. I embarrassed you in front of your professor. I refused to answer a direct question. I,” he caught his breath, “I cried in front of you.”

 

The mistress watched the cars speeding through the intersection in front of them and put a hand against her head.

 

“We’ve talked about the cane, and you already know I’ll tan your ass if you do it again. I told you what happened in class was nothing to be upset about; we’ll get you more comfortable around people. That’s my project, Aidan, to train you out of that kind of stuff. Yes, you didn’t answer my question, but did I seem angry? And the crying…why would I be mad at your for crying?”

 

“Mistress Moore used to get mad at me for crying,” Aidan whispered.

 

“Who?”

 

“My second owner.”

 

The light turned green and Mistress Bennet started driving again.

 

“The one who caned you when you were six?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“She sounds like a bitch, Aidan.”

 

It wasn’t his place to agree or disagree with that.

 

“Look, this is a good thing. You’ve been carrying a lot of stress since I got you, and it’s finally caught up with you, right? A lot of things happened today and it tested your emotions and you’re finally realizing that things aren’t going to be the same, right? But it’s a good thing, because this needed to happen and you needed to get it out of your system and I needed to be around when I did.” She put her hand over his, against the violet pot. “What was it? Was it the violets?”

 

Aidan swallowed and shook his head. “You, you didn’t hit me. You asked if you could…if you could ask why I didn’t want to answer your question.”

 

“Ah.” She squeezed his hand. “So, how’s the fallout? Are you scared? Confused? You hate me? You hate that your life has changed and there’s nothing you can do about it?”

 

Aidan hiccuped.

 

“No, mistress.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, in a gesture he was starting to love.

 

“I’m happy.”


	8. Jasmine Oil

**Vic** could cross one item off her checklist. 'Happy' had been achieved. Of course, she still had countless things she needed to do in order to turn Aidan into a quality luxury slave. She wrote out the big ones on a sheet of paper while Aidan drifted around her bedroom, looking for the place where the violets would get the best light.

 

“Mistress, may I move this vase?” He asked, gesturing to a decorative gold vase that Vic kept on her bookshelf. There was nothing in it.

 

“Sure,” Vic said. “Put it in the linen closet.”

 

Aidan nodded and took off with her vase, leaving the violets in its place.

 

He needed to be more patient, certainly. The fidgeting was still a problem, only slowly improving. He had to learn to be more attuned to her needs and take more initiative in pleasing his owner. He needed some skills; most trained slaves could sing or cook or massage or dance, or all of those things. Also, there was always the glaring one, sex.

 

Aidan lovingly arranged the pot of violets on her bookshelf and stepped back to admire them, grinning from ear-to-ear.

 

Vic couldn’t bring herself to write ‘sex’ down on her to-do list. She knew it had to happen. It was one of the items Vic’s professor had laid out for her even before the school had purchased Aidan. When she said she wanted to be an academy trainer, sex training immediately went on the list.

 

“Aidan,” Vic said, interrupting his careful attention to the plant. “Why don’t you go start dinner while I do my homework.” Luckily, cooking was something Aidan had graduated to doing on his own, even if it was only casseroles and pastas.

 

“Yes, mistress,” Aidan answered, somewhat reluctantly. He stepped out of the room and Vic closed her door behind him. Then, she paced from one corner to the other. Vic had no idea how she would even approach sex. The thought of the last thing she’d done still made her cringe. Not to mention, Aidan was still shy. If being looked at made him squirm…

 

Vic groaned aloud and raked her fingers through her hair.  Avoiding the item wasn’t going to do either of them any good in the long run. Vic had to provide a report on sexual training to pass her class—and oh Mother, how embarrassing was that? Not to mention, if she wanted to keep Aidan, it was going to have to happen eventually. She practically boiled with sexual tension and a need to touch him when he was around and it was only going to get worse.

 

Vic would have to make him want to please her. Sex was the role of any decent luxury slave. Eventually, he would realize that it was a necessary part of his position, but how to achieve that subtly…

 

Vic heard pots being shuffled around downstairs, and the sound of the fridge opening and closing. Aidan’s bare feet made a soft sound on the kitchen tile as he moved around and Vic resolved that she would handle her problem like she had any other. She would wait for the right moment and keep her goals in mind. She sat down to do her actual homework while he waited for Aidan to finish dinner.

 

Vic proper her feet up on her desk and set her laptop on her legs to work on her reports. She detailed the achievements with the violets and all the work that still had to be done for her professor.

 

“Mistress.” Forty minutes later, Aidan was standing in her bedroom again. Vic looked up from her screen, disoriented by the surprise, but unspeakably proud to see that he defaulted to standing in one of the positions she’d taught him—feet shoulder-width apart and his hands folded behind her back. She must have started to smile, because he smiled back at her. “Dinner is ready.”

 

Vic closed her laptop, and touched Aidan’s arm as she stood up.

 

“What are we having?”

 

“Pork chops,” Aidan said and Vic squinted at him.

 

“That’s more ambitious than usual,” Vic noted and Aidan bit the inside of his own cheek. His shoulders folded in a little and Vic couldn’t help reaching out to physically correct him, pushing them back until he stood up straight.

 

“I found some in the freezer and thought it might be a nice change. It didn’t seem too hard,” Aidan explained. “I think they came out all right.”

 

Vic hoped so. She would compliment him either way, to encourage a continued desire to improve, but dinner would be much more pleasant if he had actually done a good job.

 

Olivia was already in the kitchen, picking over serving plates of porkchops and a roasted red potatoes when Vic and Aidan went downstairs.

 

“These smell good,” she said, which made Aidan’s breath catch. She started to serve herself when Vic shook her head.

 

“I want Aidan to practice serving us,” she said and Olivia shrugged. “Can you handle that?” Vic asked Aidan belatedly. She thought he was perfectly capable of filling water glasses and carrying plates, but it wouldn’t do to frustrate him. At the same time, she would get nowhere if she coddled him.

 

Aidan bit his cheek again, but nodded, “Yes, mistress.”

 

Olivia shrugged, handed her empty plate to Aidan and took a seat at the dining table. Vic sat across from her and watched as Aidan set the table in front of them. He didn’t know the proper place setting for anything but that was neither a surprise nor a problem. Where to put the salad fork was easy to learn.

 

“So, how was the  performance test?” Olivia asked, unconsciously moving a steak knife from one side of her plate to the other.

 

Aidan flinched as he set a food-filled plate down in front of Vic. Another note, he should have served Olivia first.

 

“Aidan didn’t take well to the crowd,” Vic answered, “but the rest of the day was good. We went for pizza and went to a nursery.”

 

“A nursery?”

 

“Like, for plants. I bought some stuff for Aidan. Do you think the landscapers would let him help out in the garden?”

 

Aidan paused as he put two filled water glasses on the table. He looked back and forth between Olivia and Vic before Vic cleared her throat and he stepped back.

 

“I mean, sure, why not? I’m sure they’d be happy to have extra help.” Olivia shrugged and waited, with her hands folded in her lap until Aidan had finished setting the table. She then took up her knife and fork and started to cut the roasted red potatoes in half. Vic inspected the pork chop first, to see that it had been cooked through. It was maybe on the dry side, but good for Aidan’s first attempt.

 

“Where are you going?” Vic asked as Aidan started to leave the room. He turned around in the archway connecting to kitchen to the dining room and shifted from one foot to the other, looking first at Vic and then at the floor.

 

“I…uh…nowhere, mistress?”

 

“When you attend a meal, you will stand at the side.” Vic gestured to a spot on the wall, between two paintings of fruit in gold frames. “If our water glasses get low, you refill them. If we drop a utensil, you will get us a clean one. Understood?”

 

“Yes, mistress,” Aidan said, taking the appointed place on the wall.

 

And then because Vic felt the need to end on a compliment, she said, “This pork chop looks excellent, Aidan.” Olivia had the grace not to say otherwise and Aidan breathed out. He stood up a little straighter then, a smile playing at his lips. Merciful Mother, Vic wanted to kiss him—which brought her right back to her problem.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Vic said to Olivia. “There are going to be a lot of nobles at this party, aren’t there?”

 

Olivia’s eyes lit up and she held a hand in front of her mouth as she finished chewing a dry pork chop.

 

“Yes, why?” She asked, when her mouth was no longer full. Behind her, Vic saw Aidan’s jaw tighten.

 

“Almost all of whom will need a slave manager sometime in the next few years as they graduate college? Or some of whom may already be building an estate?” Vic asked. Olivia opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She sighed before she answered.

 

“Don’t go handing out business cards or anything,” Olivia said and Vic almost rolled her eyes.

 

“What do you take me for?” She responded accusingly. Olivia’s shoulders dropped and some of the tension went out of her face.

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I was just worried that…well, never mind. Anyway, don’t you want to work at an academy?” Olivia pushed the roast potatoes to the side of her plate.

 

“I want to keep my options open,” Vic said. “I graduate this semester and I have to start looking for a job.”

 

“I mean, yeah. If you go with me, I can introduce you to the right people. If Cynthia Villefort is anything like her father, she’ll have a proper harem in like two years. But you know Seranica Azzuri practically owns the Sapphire Bird Academy, right?”

 

There was no possible alternate universe where Vic did not know that. She followed the Bird on Tweeter, she was subscribed to their newsletter, she read every book their Head Trainer Ellen Harvey had even written, and she check their website twice a week, just to see what the slave classes were up to.

 

“I know, but I’m not going to meet her am I?”

 

Olivia frowned and shook her head. “She’ll shake our hand and thank us for coming and then retreat to her inner circle, probably. She may circulate for a while and make small talk. It wouldn’t be prudent to bring up business.”

 

“That’s what I figured,” Vic sighed. In the corner, Aidan was listening quietly, his eyes trained on her. Vic wished she could tell what he was thinking, but he had taken some of her instruction about controlling his expression to heart. The tilt of his head to the right side was her only indication of what he may be taking from the conversation.

 *

**Aidan** had never heard exactly what it was that his mistress wanted to do. He had gathered her area of study from her classes, obviously, but it hadn’t occurred to him to think for too long about what her life would be like after graduation. He trusted her not to throw him aside as she trotted off into her adult life, but that didn’t mean Aidan was going to fit into whatever harem she ended up managing. He didn’t even know what an academy was, though he could sort of guess.

 

“I think we should have a party,” Mistress Bennet said next. “It’s been too long since we’ve had friends over.”

 

Lady Goldres tapped a finger on her half empty glass, and Aidan took that as a sign to refill it. He kept his ears trained on the conversation as he took Lady Goldres’ glass back into the kitchen and refilled it with the purified water she insisted upon.

 

Aidan did not want his mistress to have a party. He’d seen what free people did to slaves when they were drunk and he wanted no part of that. He had no illusion that a college party wouldn’t include drunkness either. Lady Goldres had come home swaying on her heels and demanding Aidan order her a pizza one too many times for him to imagine otherwise.

 

He huffed as he took the glass back to her, having missed the last few lines of conversation.

 

“Just a few friends, nothing wild,” Mistress Bennet said again as she looked at him. It calmed him a little, to see she was thinking about him.

 

He did not want to lose this mistress, Aidan resolved. And if that meant enduring parties, curious glances, and scrutinizing professors, so be it. He set the glass back in front of Lady Goldres a touch more forcefully than necessary and blushed when the mistress raised an eyebrow.

 

“Next Friday, then,” Lady Goldres said. “I’ll get some booze and call everyone.”

 

 

The next week progressed as normal, with the addition of the flowers. He spent more time in Mistress Bennet’s room obsessing over the pot of violets than was reasonable. But they were the only thing Aidan had ever been in charge of and he had failed his mistress already twice: the first time when he threw her class equipment in the bushes and the next when he had a panic attack because she asked him to walk around.

 

“Hi, Aidan,” Vic said when she came home from class that Wednesday. She kissed him on the cheek and ran a hand through his hair, her habitual gesture of affection.

 

“How was class, mistress?” Aidan asked as he took her purse from her. It was loaded with school books and Aidan couldn’t imagine how his petite mistress carried it around all day. He followed her to her room and dutifully unpacked her bag while she kicked off her heels and rubbed her shoulders through the fabric of her navy blue blazer. By then, Aidan had memorized exactly where every book went on Mistress Bennet's shelf or desk. She was a creature of habit, his mistress.

 

She made a noncommittal noise and shrugged, and then put her shoes back in the closet. “I talked to the lawn care team. They’re coming tomorrow and Chris, that’s the head guy, said he’d be happy to let you help with garden maintenance. They’ll supply all the tools and everything, just be up and ready to work by nine tomorrow.”

 

Aidan’s heart leapt into his throat and he laughed, hanging his mistress’ purse up on the wall.

 

“Thank you, mistress!”

 

She hummed again.

 

“I said I was going to.” She rolled her left shoulder again and stretched out her arm. Aidan reminded himself of his new resolve to do whatever it took to stay.

 

“Anything I could help you with, mistress?” He asked, folding his hand neatly to look like the good little personal slave she wanted him to be.

 

Mistress Bennet blinked at him and then smiled. Merciful Mother, that smile made Aidan melt. With his old master, any sign of approval had elated him because it meant he might get a reward, like an extra portion of food or some break time. It had been hard to please Master Jones, however. Mistress Bennet was practically always pleased with him and he had enough food and comfort to keep him happy forever. The born and bred slave in him was thrilled to have earned approval from his owner, but there was something particularly special about having pleased Mistress Bennet.

 

The rewards were excellent, obviously. But knowing he satisfied the mistress who constantly saw him as a list of things to improve, however kindly she tried, was something else.

 

“Would you rub my shoulders?” The mistress asked.  Eagerly, Aidan agreed to the task. He had rubbed the mistress’ shoulders many times before and it was something for which she always praised him. “Get the jasmine oil I have off the bathroom shelf.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Aidan kind of loathed being told to go into the mistress’ bathroom. Though it was identical to his own, Aidan’s only toiletries were a handful of soaps and lotions. The list of his cosmetic items was ever expanding, however, as Mistress Bennet returned with more and more things—for his eyes, for his nails, for his hair.

 

Aidan’s collection of toiletries, though more than he had ever owned, didn’t touch the mistress’. Like Aidan’s bathroom, there were three shelves built into the wall next to the shower. Unlike Aidan’s, the mistress’ shelves were full. And unlike everything else in her life, there was no semblance of order to them. Nothing was labelled, nothing was organized. The extra blades for the mistress’ razor were next to the painkillers, which were next to the soaps, which were next to a literal solid block of beeswax. Five slim black glass bottles were spread around the three shelves and a pint of almond oil divided the mistress’ three extra bottles of shampoo and one extra bottle of conditioner. Aidan scanned the shelves helplessly. He neither know what jasmine looked like nor smelled like. He found a plastic bottle with a pump containing something bright orange and slightly lather-y, but decided it did not smell like a flower.

 

“It’s the glass bottle with the red ribbon,” Mistress Bennet called suddenly and Aidan sighed. He found a fist-sized round bottle with a cork stopper and a red ribbon on the neck behind the bag of chocolate squares the mistress kept. He couldn't have answered why she kept them in the bathroom except that they would escape Lady Goldres' sweet tooth that way. 

 

When he walked back into her bedroom, he very nearly dropped the bottle.

 

Aidan’s mind worked slowly, taking in the sight before him, which his eyes understand but his brain couldn’t decode. His mistress was naked, well, no, not naked, shirtless, bra-less, bare-chested, bare-breasted, and still stretching out her back and shoulders. Aidan’s mouth opened, but he didn't have anything to say. He tried to remember if he had seen a naked woman, or half-naked, semi-naked, bare-chested woman before. If he had, it was slipping his memory.

 

The mistress looked over her shoulder at him as she pushed bother her arms out in front of her, leaning over to stretch the long expanse of her pale back. Her skin was smooth and he could make out the dip of her spine and curve of her shoulder blades as her muscles rippled with each new movement and roll. Her pinstripe skirt mostly concealed the curve of her hips and the roundness of her thighs, but Aidan was suddenly seeing his owner’s body in a way that had never occurred to him.

 

He realized all at once that Mistress Bennet was a woman, which Aidan had known, logically. But, owners were forces of nature to him, like thunderstorms or earthquakes, they were sexless and genderless and powerful. Rather surprisingly, Mistress Bennet, Victoria Bennet, looked more human than Aidan had ever imagined an owner would look.

 

“You found it,” she smiled. “Just uncork the top and put a little on your hands. It’s fairly potent, so you’ll only need a quarter-sized amount for my back and shoulders.”

 

If she noticed his stupor, she didn’t react to it at all. Rather, she turned and walked over to the tray of hair ties and pins and decorative barrettes she kept on her dresser. It gave him a view of her from the side, and Aidan determined that he had in fact never seen a woman in a state of undress. In any state of undress.

 

From her side, Aidan could see the curves of her bac and thighs much more clearly, as well as the well of her breast, especially when the mistress’ arms were raised to pull her auburn hair up in a bun, exposing her entire breast and the back of her neck. Her breasts and stomach were paler even than her back, but Aidan only noticed that vaguely. He was occupied by staring and mentally matching the image of shirtless Mistress Bennet to the way he saw her clothed.

 

“Aidan,” she said impatiently, and Aidan jumped. While the mistress laid down on the bed, her face cushioned on a pillow and her arms laying limply to the side, Aidan fumbled with the cork and his ability to speak.

 

Aidan had rubbed his mistress’ shoulders before, but never when she was unclothed. He was unreasonably nervous. He poured too much oil in the cup of his right hand and hurriedly rubbed his two hands together to keep it from spilling on the mistress’ comforter. It was a strange moment for his to realize that his hands had fewer callouses than they had before.

 

As he climbed onto the bed behind the mistress, awkwardly kneeling on one side of her, he tried to smooth the oil down her back. She had been right, it smelled powerfully of flowers.

 

“Aidan,” Mistress Bennet said again. “Straddle my back, it’ll be easier for you that way.”

 

Aidan followed order slowly so as not to knee her in the back.

 

“Are you as shy about looking at other people as you are about being looked at?”

 

_Obviously_ , Aidan though. Though he knew that wasn’t really true. He had seen plenty of naked men and been naked in front of men and never cared. There was something different to it when it was an owner, however, some level of intimacy he'd never had with any of his previous owners. The disregard with which Mistress Bennet was willing to undress in front of him was a little stunning, though he guessed that was what owners did. Like Lady Goldres said so often, “Beauty is for peasants and slaves.” It stood to reason that any self consciousness would be for peasants and slaves too. 

 

When Aidan figured out how to put those thoughts into words, smoothing his hands down the mistress’ back, he said, “I don’t know, mistress. It just feels strange for an owner to be…”

 

He let himself trail off. The only word he could think to say was ‘human’ and he doubted the mistress would take well to that.

 

“Continue,” Mistress Bennet mumbled. It wasn’t as commanding when she sounded so relaxed and sleepy.

 

_Kind of cute even_ , Aidan let himself think. He found a knot in her left shoulder, the one she carried her purse on, and started to press. She groaned and shivered a little and Aidan found himself hot in the face.

 

“Good, Aidan,” she sighed. “Continue.”

 

“I can’t remember what I was saying,” Aidan lied. Mistress Bennet opened the eye that wasn’t pressed into the pillow and turned her head towards him.

 

“You were saying that it feel strange for an owner to be.”

 

Aidan was silent as he worked the knot and continued rubbing up into his mistress’ slender neck. He didn’t frequently touch his mistress, certainly not as often as she touched him. Her skin was soft, probably due to her five hundred lotions and oils. It was warm too, and slick and shiny under the oil. He rolled his thumbs in a circle motion on the spots where the neck met the shoulders.

 

“For an owner to be…um…relaxed, I guess, mistress?”

 

Mistress Bennet’s eye, which has closed when he rubbed a line up the tendon in her neck, opened again.

 

“Relaxed?”

 

“I just…owners usually yell at me,” Aidan tried to explain. Even as kind as Mistress Bennet was, she was usually imperious and just a hint scary. “They don’t usually lay down and go to sleep.”

 

“I’m not going to sleep,” Mistress Bennet mumbled, but she yawned even as she protested. Aidan grinned, set as ease by her vulnerability. He rubbed back down her spine, focusing on the muscles that ran on either. They were tense and stiff as her neck.

 

“Is this a good change?” she continued, only slightly muffled by the pillow.

 

“I don’t know, mistress,” Aidan said honestly. The intimacy of being with his mistress in a quiet, unguarded moment, when she wasn’t critiquing his performance as a slave or planning out her assignments, shopping trips, and professional networking should have been comforting. Rather, it cemented the power she had over him. There had always been a barrier between Aidan and his owners. Other slaves were friends and it didn’t bother him to share bed, bath, food, and work. Owners, however, had been distant figures. Mistress Jones had always been… “a bitch”, in Mistress’ Bennet's words. She showed up in the morning to pull him from bed, or her teenage son did, and then gave him a list of chores to do. He got himself breakfast from the stock of slave biscuits kept for him—he wasn’t allowed to eat anything else—and then cleaned the restaurant, opened the door for the proper employees, and spent the rest of the day doing whatever he had been told. He spent more time around the restaurant staff than he had his owners, and every once in a while, Mistress Moore would sweep in to evaluate the way he washed the dishes or something. If she were unsatisfied, she caned him quickly and perfunctorily and went back to whatever she did during the day.

 

Master Jones was even less involved in Aidan’s day-to-day life. The oldest slaves woke up at the same time every day and woke everyone else with them, and then they were all given breakfast and twenty minutes to bathe by the slave handler. After, Master Jones split them all up based on what moving jobs they had and how many hands the client paid for. An employee or two drove the truck and then primarily worked in a supervisory capacity, because obviously Aidan was too stupid to know how to pack a truck after having done it every day for three years. He still felt some resentment at that.

 

Mistress Bennet was not a far-away owner, which Aidan had hated about her originally. Nitpicking and micromanaging, he’d called it. Thinking that made him laugh, because she was in fact, both of those things. A hell of a type A.

 

“What are you laughing at?” Mistress Bennet mumbled and Aidan answered demurely.

 

“Nothing, mistress.” She let him get away with it.

 

There was some founding to her nitpicking, however, that Aidan hadn’t realized at that time. A labor slave did a job and the only thing that mattered was that the job was done well. A personal slave had more intricate responsibilities, more _intimate_ responsibilities. As he was quickly learning, personal slaves reflected on their owners in ways labor slaves didn’t. They were kept so much closer at hand, and there were benefits as well as losses. The freedom that accompanied the owner not really giving a shit about you had to be sacrificed, but in its place came the benefits of the owner, well, giving a shit. Aidan smiled at himself, although he knew damn well that wasn’t funny.

 

Like caring about his hobbies or his happiness or his health. _Other owners wouldn’t be like that_ , Aidan thought to himself. He knew Lady Goldres had a personal slave somewhere, but as Aidan had never met him, he had a pretty clear idea of what sort of owner Lady Olivia Goldres was.

 

Beneath him, the mistress’ breathing slowed down and her eyes fluttered. She sighed again, and flexed her back a little.

 

He had more luxuries with Mistress Bennet, but he was controlled so much more completely.

 

And, somehow, Aidan didn’t mind. Maybe he had spent too long under the mistress’ thumb and too long away from his fellow slaves, but he really was happy to belong to this mistress.

 

They passed the rest of the time in silence. Aidan didn’t think anymore, except about the stretch of nude skin under his hands. Mistress Bennet didn’t ask him any more questions either. When his hands started to cramp, and it seemed she had fallen asleep, Aidan tried to climb off the bed without disturbing her.

 

Either he wasn’t successful or she hadn’t been asleep, because Mistress Bennet’s slim hand reached out to grab him by the wrist. She rolled over, leaving a space empty on the queen bed and baring her breasts again. She was cold, if the points of her pink nipples said anything.

 

“Lay down with me,” Mistress Bennet said and Aidan blinked.

 

“Mistress?”

 

“You said you didn’t have owner who laid down and went to sleep around you, so lay down. And go to sleep.”

 

Aidan chuckled a little and worked his wrist out of her hand. He climbed on to the bed next to her, pulling the blankets up so that she could slip under them. That had to be another effect of the increased contact with his owner, caring that she was cold.

 

Mistress Bennet slithered under the comforter and waited for Aidan to do the same, never opening her eyes.

 

When he did, she pressed against his back and laid an arm over his hip. Not grabbing or stroking or anything, just touching. He was okay with that, really.

 

“I’m not tired, mistress,” Aidan warned her and he physically felt her shrug even though he couldn’t see her.

 

“So just lay here. I have to get up to work on my reports anyway. I have a presentation due Friday. I’m not going to…” she yawned, “sleep.”

 

“Whatever you say,” Aidan risked.  She grunted and pinched him, but not hard or anything. It was more of a tiny squeeze.

 

Aidan chuckled. He would do anything to keep this, as long as he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sort of slow chapter, but we creep closer to the resolution and the action. Next: Vic and Olivia throw a small party.


	9. Cocktails

Apparently, to Lady Goldres, a “small party” necessitated catering. Aidan sat on the steps, out of the way to watch as an event group moved Lady Goldres’ furniture into the gym and set up tables of food, punch, and decorations. They even brought their own lights and changed out the bulbs in the ceiling with…fancier lights, Aidan guessed.

 

All of the food appeared to be finger foods, even though there were plates and utensils provided buffet-style at the various tables. True to Lady Goldres’ sweet tooth, there was an entire tower of bite-sized desserts, featuring puddings, mini cakes, artisanal chocolates, cookies, and macarons.

 

The actual food was just as elaborated styled and spread out across the entire space of the foyer, dining, and rec rooms. Aidan heard one woman say it was like that to “keep them from congregating around one table”. There were cheeses and crackers, cucumber slices topped with humus, olives, assorted nuts, skewers of fruit, meatballs on sticks, finger sandwiches, mushrooms stuffed with chives and cream cheese, something wrapped in bacon and held with a toothpick, crostini, and _tiny_ pancakes topped with a single raspberry and a pinch of powdered sugar.

 

It looked like too much food, but Aidan figured the leftovers would mean he wouldn’t have to cook for a while, which was fine by him.

 

And of course, there was plentiful alcohol, which Aidan also thought was too much. Every table had a matching assortment of drinks. There were “dessert cocktails” on the sweets table. Most looked chocolatey or creamy and some were topped with caramel or powdered sugar or something. The table containing the fruits, nuts, cheeses, and olives also featured fancy-looking drinks in champagne glasses and fruits that were either soaked in champagne or something, or had been stuffed with alcoholic jello—Aidan wasn’t sure which. The finger sandwiches and bacon wraps table contained less fru-fru-looking drinks in more sensible glasses, not that Aidan could have said what any of it was. And of course, there was a circular table in the middle of it all that sported three bottles of wine, one white and two red. A stack of wine glasses was arranged as a tower next to them.

 

Aidan was so busy watching the people work, that he didn't realize anyone was behind him until one woman looked up and said, “My lady.” Aidan whirled around to see, sure enough, Lady Goldres standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a dress that looked as unnecessarily fancy for a small house party as catering. It was navy blue, but embellished with gold that Aidan suspected was real.

 

Lady Olivia was even wearing makeup, which was something Aidan had come to understand noblewoman did not do often and disdained in general. He couldn’t help but start to worry that maybe he and the lady had different ideas of “small.”

 

Lady Olivia brushed past him on the stairs, acknowledging him only to say, “Go see Vic. You can’t be dressed like that.” She was then immediately embroiled in the details of the event setup.

 

Still curious about the party but not daring enough to be disobedient to his mistress’ personal friend, Aidan begrudgingly made his way to his mistress’ room.  Since that first initial shopping day, with the exception of a few more days where his mistress gradually acquired new accessories, Mistress Bennet had left Aidan’s clothes alone. He had thus outfitted himself in shorts and tank tops, occasionally a tunic, as he felt comfortable in the clothes of a work slave. Wearing the robes of a personal slave still felt uncomfortable for him, and they had hung neglected in his closet.

 

The mistress was bent over the counter in her bathroom, a massive black and white polka-dotted bag laid out in front of her. It was filled with rows of brushes and tubes and tins and compacts and balms. The excess was exactly what Aidan would expect from anything in his mistress’ bathroom. He saw her eyes catch him in the mirror, but she was applying a black line on her lids and did not move to address him until she set the black stick down.

 

Seeing his mistress’ reflection in the mirror was a totally different experience than when she actually turned around. He had seen his mistress dressed up before. She dressed every day for class and even wore a little makeup. "Just enough," she would say. Those days, though, she dressed for a professional sphere.

 

For the party, she picked a skin-tight all white dress with an open back and hadn’t bothered to be subtle with her makeup. Her eyes were covered with a gold and copper powder and outlined in sharp and bold black lines. Her lips were bright red and her cheeks were pinker. And, it may have just been his imagination, but her skin glittered where the light hit it.

 

She looked…nice. Really nice.

 

“Lady Goldres said you’d want to dress me,” Aidan explained and Mistress Bennet nodded.

 

“I do. Just sit on the bed and give me a second.”

 

Aidan watched her paint her finger and toe nails a very pale gold and felt comfortable enough to ask her:  “What’s all the fuss, mistress? I thought it was just a small gathering.”

 

Mistress Bennet laughed as she blew on her hand.

 

“You’ll learn this sooner rather than later, but everything at RUK, and everything involving nobility ever, is a gesture of status.”

 

“What’s your status?” Aidan asked unthinkingly. He gasped at himself after, but the mistress didn’t seem to take offense.

 

“Depends on who I’m with, doesn’t it?” She joked. “I rank pretty lowly to be honest. I’m a scholarship student, who used to…wait for it…wait tables. I know, the horror.” Aidan didn’t think that was horrible, but the mistress continued. “And I’m ‘working class’, unlike Olivia who is ‘ruling class’ no matter how low she ranks among the nobility. My prestige comes mostly through my grades and my friendships. I’m not as bad off as some, though. It’s not like I’m, despite Olivia’s totally unrealistic opinion, poor. I come from a family of doctors and lawyers. I mean, my mom’s a neurosurgeon, my dad is a celebrity divorce lawyer, and my uncle is the president of the university in Altea.”

 

“Why do you need scholarships then?” Aidan asked and Vic started on her second hand.

 

“I don’t expect you to have an understanding of money, since you’ve never had any, but tuition costs at RUK  are unrivaled anywhere in the world.”

 

“Why not go to your uncle’s university?”

 

“RUK has all the best slave management program.” She looked up and winked at him. “And, the networking opportunities are unparalleled. Every noble in this country and the surrounding countries goes to RUK. I think that’s one of the reasons the tuition is so high, because they aren’t legally allowed to discriminate based on class but they can sure as the Mother’s milk make sure that only the rich can afford entry. Even then, you need serious connections to get in. Or seriosuly good grades, they do need some people to make the school's academics looks good.”

 

Mistress Bennet waved both hands around in the air, alternatively blowing on one then the other.

 

“Who was your connection?” Aidan asked. He’d never applied much thought to the lives of free people; they’d never interested him. He just did as he was told and didn’t ask why.

 

“My uncle. The academic community is kind of small, and when your uncle is the president of a major university, you can go pretty much anywhere. It helped that my grades and extracurriculars were so good, and continues to help that I have been on the dean’s list every semester. It doesn’t stop all the nobles and billionaire heirs and celebrity children from thinking of me as a peasant, but I’m looking to get a job not marry into a title.”

 

Aidan swallowed thickly and tried to put his fear into words.

 

“So, if I reflect poorly on you…”

 

Mistress Bennet’s gaze snapped up from the focus on her toe nails.

 

“Don’t you start worrying about that. I’ve handled my image for four years and I only have ten weeks left before I walk out of here graduating ‘Summa Cum Laude’ from the most prestigious university in the world. And, my advisors have promised to forward my resume and some recommendation letters to their friends in the industry. Like we talked about before, all you have to do is cooperate so I pass this class, and then we can talk about whether or not you want to stay.”

 

“I do,” Aidan said too quickly. He blushed at the surprise in the mistress’ face.

 

“Good,” she said. “I like having you.”

 

And if that didn’t just make him feel warm and fuzzy.

 

Desperate to change the conversation, Aidan asked, “How do you know Lady Goldres if you rank as lowly as you say?”

 

The mistress didn’t look at him, but she pursed her lips.

 

“Don’t go around repeating this or anything, but Olivia is rather lowly ranked herself, for a noble. Keep in mind that ‘for a noble’ still means leagues ahead of anyone who is not a noble, no matter how rich they are, but her family runs a relatively small and rural part of the country. She’s not even the oldest in her family, so she doesn’t inherit that position either. Also, our generation is a little less concerned with the decorum of our parents’ generation. Class discrimination is no longer socially acceptable, which isn’t stopping it from happening, but is making it passingly more acceptable to have diverse social circles. College is also a weird place that is not considered the real world and the students here do many things that would be considered unacceptable.

 

"So, we both tried out for the soccer club team our freshmen year. Obviously neither of us plays soccer anymore, but we were teammates for a year and hit it off. Originally, Olivia lived in this house with her older brother, but when he graduated she needed a new roommate. I was eager to get out of the dorms and we already knew we got along, so here we are. Really, we didn’t get to be great friends until I moved in, but knowing Olivia might be one of the best things I got from college. I’m just hoping we stay friends after we graduate.”

 

“Oh.” Aidan kicked his feet and tried to put into perspective the different strata of free people and the complicated rules of their friendships.

 

When the mistress was done with both of her toes, she said, “Look in the plastic bag on the desk. There’s something for you in there.”

 

Aidan shifted through the white, plastic bag and sorted out three folds of cloth and three items wrapped in white paper. The cloth squares were burgundy, black, and green. When he unrolled them, each cloth turned out to be a different robe. The black one had a single peacock feather embroidered on it, lined in white thread. The green one was moss green and darker green leaves were patterned on the fabric. The burgundy robe was patterned with tiny suns, embroidered in gold thread. 

 

“Put on the red one,” His mistress said from the bathroom. “And the accessories.”

 

Wishing she would be content with his sweatpants and tank top, Aidan stripped off the shirt, wrapped the robe around him, and then shimmied out of the sweatpants until all he wore was the robe. He unwrapped the three items left in the bag. In two of the papers, he found sets of gold bands. In the last, he found a matching but much larger band. Without needing instruction, Aidan clasped each around his wrists, ankles, and throat. On his left wrist, the gold band laid alongside the aluminum chain and tag that marked him as a slave.

 

The mistress came out of the bathroom, very delicately walking so her toes did not touch the carpet.

 

“Looks great,” she said and Aidan went red. She steered him into the bathroom, where she sat him on the edge of the shower and said, “I’m going to put some makeup on you. It’s just a little bit, no big deal, but don’t move or anything.”

 

Aidan grimaced, but let her. Mistress Bennet sorted through her bag until she had gathered all sorts of tins and powders and then went to work rubbing moisturizer into his face.

 

“To make your skin glow,” she explained. Sitting so close to her, Aidan could smell her vanilla-scented lotion and feel the warmth off her skin. Even more, it was hard for Aidan to look away from her as she gently rubbed the lotion into his face. Her eyes were so, so green under the gold powder. Aidan closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feeling of her soft fingers stroking his skin.

 

“This is a stain,” The mistress said then, holding up a pink tin. “I’m going to use it on your lips and cheeks. Stay still.”

 

Again, her fingers gently stroked across his skin, tracing the line of his cheek bone and then ever so gently over his lips. Aidan started to breathe a little harder and shivered, though he wasn’t cold.

 

“And a powder for your eyes,” She continued, holding up a small compact filled with a bronze powder. She finally picked up a slim, silver-handled brush. “Close your eyes.” Aidan did, but he could feel her breathing on his cheek as she leaned in to softly draw the brush over his eyelid. It felt strange and he couldn’t stop himself from blinking and pulling away. The mistress put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him back.

 

“Stay still,” she chided. He tried, but he felt like she was poking him. When he opened his eyes, she was frowning. “I guess eyeliner is out of the question. Pity.”

 

Aidan couldn’t pin if the stab of disappointment was for letting her down or because she pulled away.

 

“Use that sandalwood oil I gave you the other day on the rest of your body,” the mistress instructed. She screwed all the lids back into place and tapped her brush against the edge of the counter, forcing bronze to scatter across the caramel-colored marble. “Will you need help reaching your back?”

 

Aidan blushed. “No, mistress,” he stammered, although they both knew he wouldn’t be able to reach his own back. Mistress Bennet didn’t force the issue. She moved out of the way, drawing Aidan into the mirror so he could see his own face.

 

He blinked at his own reflection, surprised to see the colors and lines on his face so pronounced. He didn’t look…bad, but he didn’t like it. He narrowed his eyes, the color of which had been drawn out by the bronze on the lid. It was obvious probably only to him that he was wearing makeup; the guests would never notice.

 

“You look great,” Mistress Bennet said, and then kissed his cheek. Aidan bit his lip, only for her to tap his jaw and say, “don’t mess up the stain.”

 

She left him then to go back to his own room and put on the requested oil so she could finish lacquering her nails.

 

When Aidan stood in front of his own mirror, dressed in the short, clinging robe of a sex slave and covered in golden bangles, he didn’t recognize himself. Aidan’s self-image was always of a sweat-stained worker, guzzling water and lugging heavy boxes. He had changed so much, made up and dressed up like a rich person’s pet, that he could almost cry. He forced himself to remember, for his own sanity, how much he enjoyed belonging to Mistress Bennet, that embarrassing clothes and too much attention were a small price to pay for comfort and plenty and an attentive owner.

 

Steeling himself by reforging his determination, Aidan closed his eyes and then looked again. He altered his expectation. He put all his kneeling lessons and the evenings spent with Mistress Bennet’s fingers in his hair at the front of his mind, and when he opened his eyes again…he saw a slave his mistress would be happy with. He remembered her touch on his cheek and her voice saying “you look great”. He did look good. He looked like a model personal slave, the kind who would reflect well on his mistress. And his mistress needed him to help her retain her status.

 

His mistress’ guests would admire him, and admire her by proxy, and when he thought of it that way, being dolled up wasn’t so bad.

 

Aidan hunted out the oil his mistress had mentioned and used a palm-full for his arms and legs. He used another small amount for his chest and the part of his back he could reach. He shone and smelled good and it would be exactly what the mistress wanted.

 

“Vic!” Lady Olivia yelled out. The next moment, his mistress glided out of her room, her white dress hugging all her curves as she moved, pulling the eye to the swell of her back and thighs. Or maybe only Aidan’s eyes. Aidan’s bronze-painted eyes.

 

The mistress toes must not have dried, because she walked carefully on the balls on her heels, certain her toe nails would touch nothing but air.

 

“What?” Mistress Bennet yelled back, most unlady-like, from the top step.

 

“Do we need an attendant slave? The catering group is offering one!”

 

Mistress Bennet frowned and looked at Aidan, where he had peeked his head out of his bedroom to watch and listen. He pulled back against the door frame, embarrassed to be caught.

 

Instead of yelling again, the mistress held the bannister of the stairs and tottered down slowly. His curiosity burning him, Aidan risked following.

 

The decorating had finished while Aidan had been upstairs and the event group seemed to be putting the finishing touches on everything by rearranged the food on its trays and straightening the vases full of colored glass balls.

 

A slave woman, a little older than him, stood next to the chief of the event group. Immediately, Aidan’s recognized her stance and his mistress’ voice echoed in his head—“feet shoulder-width apart, hands folded in front, eyes down but face up. You will use this when standing at rest in an informal situation.”

 

Did standing for assessment count as informal? He guessed it would, before the party started. She would probably shift to folding her arms behind her and keeping her eyes up after the party began.

 

“She’s a bartender and has been specifically trained to attend events such as these in order to serve guests and refresh drinks,” the catering guy explained.

 

Lady Olivia looked pointedly at Aidan as he walked down the stairs, and her blue eyes widened momentarily.

 

“Hot damn,” she said, with a nod to his mistress. Aidan puffed up a little bit.

 

Mistress Bennet mimed a bow and then straightened to speak to the caterer.

 

“Not that we don’t appreciate the offer, but I have a slave and so do most of our peers. I can’t imagine that we’ll need as many as will probably be attending.”

 

The catering man looked at Aidan over Vic’s head and cocked a black eyebrow. Aidan would normally have blushed, but he felt secure between his mistress and Lady Olivia, neither of whom reacted to the skeptical expression. The man didn’t say anything, just nodded and gestured to his woman. She bowed her head and backed away. “The proper way to exit the presence of a free person is to back away, bow, and only turn your back once you are out of sight,” Aidan heard his mistress’ floating voice. He wondered if he’d spend the rest of his life hallucinating about Mistress Bennet’s training.

 

“The cleanup crew will return tomorrow,” the catering man continued as his group started to clear out. He then turned to Lady Olivia and bowed his head to assure her, “And no matter what they find, rest assured that my staff are always unobtrusive and respectful of our clients’ privacy.”

 

Aidan wondered how many times the cleanup staff had returned to a house party to find drunk college nobles passed out on their own floors, or worse.

 

Lady Olivia wrote a check and his mistress looked Aidan up and down. When she smiled, he grinned back at her.

 

“At some point during the night, our attention is going to shift away from the food,” she said. “You and the others can help yourselves as long as no one is looking and you stay attentive in case you’re needed.”

 

“How do I attend a party?” Aidan asked, whispering so he wouldn’t be embarrassed in front of Lady Olivia or the exiting catering group.

 

“The same way you attended dinner, essentially,” Mistress Bennet explained. She took him by the wrist and drew him back towards the stairs as she stepped lightly across the hardwood floors. “You’re smart, Aidan. I trust you to get the hang of it. Besides, at least two other slaves will be at the party tonight and there are only eight people coming, just follow their lead. If you have any questions, ask Amelie. In my experience, she’s sweet, and she’s academy trained so she’ll know what to do.”

 

“Amelie?”

 

“My friend Tom’s slave. She’s blonde and has very wispy hair. You’ll know her when you see her.”

 

Aidan didn’t love the idea of talking to an academy slave, who would indubitably sense his inferiority. And, he didn’t trust a free person’s opinion of what a slave was like. He would just have to watch and follow the others’ leads.

 

There was another forty minutes before the party started, during which Lady Goldres and Mistress Bennet finished their primping. It seemed like so much work just to hang out with friends, and he wondered what it would be like when they went to a really formal party.  Aidan was left at the door with the instructions to greet guests.

 

“Usually, you would have been given a list to prep with, so you could greet everyone by name. This isn’t really a proper party.” It sure as the Mother’s wrath looked like one. "It's more of an imitation Party, so just let everyone in and stand aside. They’ve all been here before,” Mistress Bennet said before she went to try on shoes.

 

Aidan waited by the door then, twiddling his thumbs, metaphorically. His mistress’ hatred of fidgeting was starting to set in and even Aidan was surprised at how long he could now stand perfectly still. It still bored him to death. He bet Amelie could stand quietly forever.

 

The first two guests arrived six minutes before the party officially started, and the two boys let themselves in before Aidan could even reach the door. In fact, he had to jump out of the way to avoid getting his nose broken when one of the boys threw the door open. Aidan pressed back against the wall, where he hoped he was safe from risk of injury.

 

“Livvy!” The first boy shouted, bursting into the atrium. He was dressed in a black suit and black leather shoes so polished they shown. His long black hair was blown around his face like one of those hair commercials.

 

“Hector!” Lady Olivia shouted back, before she came cascading down the stairs and into Hector’s arms. They hugged fiercely and kissed each other’s cheeks, laughing.

 

The second young man entered with much less drama. He closed the door Hector had thrown open, spared Aidan a nod, and accepted a hug from Lady Olivia. As if responding to the different personalities, she was far more subdued when greeting him.

 

“Mason,” she cooed and she kissed his cheek. He kissed her hand and then the mistress had come down the stairs.

 

“Hey guys,” she said politely, nodding at each of them. She took two glasses off of the table nearest the stairs and handed one to each of them. Aidan kept his post by the stairs and listened in on the conversation, hoping to glean some information about his mistress’ company.

 

Hector was a noble that Lady Olivia had been friends with since she was young. If Aidan had heard the implications correctly, they’d once been engaged and Lady Olivia had spent all her summers at his house. He was the oldest of several brothers (Aidan had only heard him mention “brothers”, not how many) and was in school preparing to take over his family’s region. He and Lady Olivia started gossiping about other nobles and the engagement of Seranica Azzuri and Lucius Dereo.

 

Mason was the son of a billionaire who owned some hotel chain. He was a friend of Lady Olivia's, but spent most of his time talking to Mistress Bennet. They stood together, chatting about TV shows and sipping cocktails, and Aidan found himself so distracted by them that he almost missed when the doorbell rang again.

 

The next group was four people. They allowed Aidan to open the door for them and ignored him as they stepped inside. The two girls glided through, dressed up like his mistress and Lady Olivia. They were followed by a tall blonde boy and another young man, a slave if his robe and down-turned eyes indicated anything.

 

The first girl was thin as a whip and long black hair cascaded down her back. She was even taller on her strappy red heels.

 

“This looks awesome,” She said, shucking off a leather jacket and handing it to Aidan. Her name was Jennifer, judging by the way Mistress Bennet greeted her. Aidan couldn’t help but notice that the mistress greeted her more emphatically than she had other guests.

 

The next girl was “Sabrina”, a blonde who looked very similar to the man who entered behind her. Aidan realized later that they were twins. Unlike her brother, however, she was short and curved where he was tall and lanky. They both had sharp chins, that Aidan would later be told they took from their A-list actress mother.

 

Aidan stood with Jennifer’s leather jacket in his hands and no idea where to put it. Luckily, his mistress saw and took pity on him.

 

“In the coat closet,” she said, gesturing to the closet by the front door.

 

The slave who entered with the twins immediately took drinks off the tables and brought them to his owners, something fruity for Sabrina and a simple liquor for her brother Sebastian. He then fell into step behind the two of them. He was maybe Aidan’s age, maybe a little older, but Aidan couldn’t tell. His robe was unadorned purple. He also had a silver chain where Aidan had aluminum. His nails were painted with something clear and shiny and his eyes and cheeks were done with makeup, like Aidan’s. He was handsome, Aidan couldn’t help thinking, even though he was typically attracted to men who were less manicured. His movements were all the kind of graceful that Mistress Bennet had been fighting to make Aidan mimic.

 

He subconsciously corrected his posture as he analyzed the black-haired boy, who had not looked at Aidan once. He couldn’t help but feel a little lonely. He was used to being around lots of other slaves and had gone for weeks without seeing another slave, only to be ignored by the first one he met.

 

Aidan hung up the guest’s coat, keeping his ear trained on the bits of conversation.

 

“…she’s looking at a new script, but we can’t talk about it, of course...”

 

“…my accounting class is kicking my ass. I mean, we have people for this…”

 

“…Oh my goodness, look at all these cakes…”

 

His mistress’ voice floated above the others as he closed the closet door.

 

“You didn’t bring your girl tonight?” She asked her friend Jennifer. They each had plates in their hands and were picking over the little pancake stacks.

 

“Oh no, she’s not prepared for an event like this,” Jennifer said back, shaking her head. She looked at Aidan as he took his post by the door. “He looks great,” she continued. “Man, you have to help me with Abigail. She fucking bit me tonight.”

 

Mistress Bennet laughed out loud and Aidan looked down at Jennifer’s hand. He could see a dark red semi-circle on her right hand. He paled, trying to imagine biting a free person. ‘Abigail’ must have been absurdly brave or absurdly stupid.

 

“How did you punish her?” The mistress asked, and then Aidan was really interested, because he hadn’t been punished yet.

 

“I whipped her. It seemed like the thing to do, but it’s not working. I mean, shit, Vic, my parents are both slave trainers and I have not the foggiest what to do with this girl. She’s seventeen but Good Mother, she is mean.”

 

Mistress Bennet laughed.

 

“Have you asked them for help?”

 

“I don’t want to! I could, but I would really like to prove that I can do this by myself, you know?”

 

Mistress Bennet hummed, “Why did she bite you?”

 

Aidan’s attention went back to the door as the next guest arrived. He figured the man behind the door was Tom, because the girl behind him looked the way Mistress Bennet described “Amelie”. He was stunned to realize that she was the blonde he knelt next to in his mistress’ class, the little blue bird on her wrist and everything. She did not seem at all surprised to see him. Unlike Aidan and the unnamed boy with the twins, she was not wearing a robe. She was wearing a light blue dress that was totally sheer and Aidan felt himself flush, uncertain where to look.

 

“Tom!” Jennifer yelled. “Get in here!”

 

He ignored Aidan, who closed the door behind him and his girl and walked straight over to the mistress and her friend.

 

As he was the last guest, Aidan closed the door and locked it. He didn’t know why he locked it, just that it seemed like a good idea, and hastened to his mistress’ side.

 

“We’re talking about Jennifer’s errant trainee,” Mistress Bennet supplied to Tom, and he chuckled. He ran a hand through Amelie’s wispy blonde hair and said, “That’s why I like academy slaves. All the work is done for you.”

 

“I thought you wanted to be a trainer,” Jennifer snapped, and Tom snorted.

 

“I have a model,” he said.

 

Like the dark-haired boy with the twins, Amelie did not acknowledge Aidan. He figured it would be best, then, if he stopped staring.

 

“Victoria!” Sabrina called, from where she was gathered around the wine table with Lady Olivia and the others. “Is it true that you’re going to Seranica’s party?”

 

Taking her cue, Mistress Bennet wandered over to join the larger group, leaving Tom and Jennifer to continue their conversation. From Aidan’s perspective, it looked a lot like flirting. It didn’t escape his notice either that his mistress stood next to Mason.

 

“It’s true,” Mistress Bennet confirmed. She took a sip from her glass, drawing Aidan’s eye to the fact it was nearly empty. Did he wait until she finished it, or did he get her another right away?

 

“I’ll have to pick out a dress and everything,” she continued.

 

“Oh! I am so jealous! I would die to go to that party!” Sabrina complained.

 

“If you died, you couldn’t go to that party,” Lady Olivia teased and the group laughed. Aidan noticed one of the guests, he’d already forgotten his name, had an empty glass. He tried to remember what the young lord had been drinking and took another from one of the tables. The mistress smiled at him as he discreetly, with his eyes turned down, handed the young lord—Hector, that was it—a new glass and accepted the old one. He stood with the empty glass in his hand for a moment, as the group continued to talk parties. It was a moment until he caught Amelie’s brown eyes and saw her subtly jerked her head in the direction of a table with matching cocktails. He had only just replaced the empty glass on the table with the others when Mason handed him an empty plate. He stacked that on a table as well.

 

He didn’t miss the way Mason’s hand was starting to linger on his mistress’ elbow as they laughed over something.

 

“Slave!” the heir called out to him, and it irritated him. Aidan couldn’t figure out why it irritated him, because he had been referred to as “slave” all his life.

 

“Sir?” He responded anyway.

 

“Get your mistress some more to eat,” he ordered and handed Aidan another empty plate.

 

“I—” The mistress began to say and Mason held up a hand, cutting her off.

 

“Let him prove how well he knows you.”

 

Aidan was gratified to see an irritated look cross over his mistress’ face. He did know his mistress, he thought in defiance, well enough to know that she could speak for herself. He knew her tastes too, though, so he flit around the room refilling her plate with everything he knew she’d like. Her praise when he handed the plate back to her was all the satisfaction he needed. All the proof he needed.

 

After that, Aidan didn’t get another slow moment. As the host’s slave, he was responsible for every guest that did not have slave with them, which was most of them. It didn’t bother him, though, he was used to spend the day on his feet.

 

They picked over food for an hour or so, talking.  Finally, once it seemed everyone was a full and just a little tipsy, they moved to the rec room, where Lady Goldres put on a movie. They all started smoking then, with the exception of his mistress.

 

“I have a huge test that I have to study for,” She explained and Hector snorted.

 

“You have the whole weekend! Come on!”

 

Mistress Bennet declined again, as Lady Olivia started on a blunt.

 

Aidan had never seen the movie they started watching. It was animated and musical and as they got drunker, the singing got louder. With the exception of Sebastian, they were not good singers. They started playing cards

 

Fortunately, though, as the free people were distracted, the three slaves had a free moment. They stood together, just outside the rec room with their hands folded and their eyes on their owners. Mason was whispering something in his mistress’ ear as the animated figures danced on the screen.

 

“No!” Lady Goldres screamed as someone stole her cards. He didn’t know what game they were playing.

 

“How’s it been Amy?” The dark-haired boy whispered, loud enough to be heard among the three of them but not enough to be reach the owners, who were no longer watching their movie at all.

 

“My master has taken up some less than ideal new interests, but I can’t really complain,” Amelie replied. Her brown eyes flickered over Aidan.

 

“How are you settling in? You seem more relaxed than when I saw you last.”

 

The dark-haired boy looked at Aidan than too, and he almost wished they would go back to ignoring him.

 

“I…I am, thanks for asking,” Aidan answered, and Amy smiled at him.

 

“Good, your mistress seems a little intense,” she said.

 

“I’m Gabe,” the dark-haired boy introduced himself. He nodded at Aidan quickly and the returned to his stance.

 

“How are the twins treating you?” Amy asked him and he shook his head.

 

“They’re killing me. I miss Becca more every day, just because having to answer to both of them is exhausting me. They keep arguing over whether they’re both going to get another slave they share again, like they did with me and Becca or whether one of them will take complete ownership and me and the other gets a new slave. Naturally, both of them want a new slave. I’m trying not to let it get to my ego,” he explained.

 

Amy didn’t frown or show any expression, but there was a tension in her body that belied her concern.

 

“They’re not going to sell you are they?”

 

Gabe bit his lip.

 

“I don’t know. I hope not. I don’t want…well…even if they do, it’s not like I can do anything anyway.” The unhappiness was thick in his voice and Aidan couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

 

His mistress glanced up over one of the bean bags to look for him. She smiled when he nodded at her, and Aidan felt much more at ease. She may have been getting a little buzzed, and Aidan was sure the herbal smoke was affecting her even if she wasn’t directly smoking it, but she was still thinking of him.

 

“She seems to look after you,” Amy said, changing the topics from Gabe’s possible desertion.

 

“I’m lucky,” Aidan shrugged.

 

“Really? She always kind of struck me as an owner who would be…how do I put it…” Gabe started to flounder. Amy cut him off before he could finish his throat.

 

“Do not speak badly of free people.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Gabe grumbled. “I just meant to say she doesn’t seem like the lenient type.”

 

Aidan debated telling them about the cane incident, but decided that it would be better not to. He couldn’t know what relationships they had with their owners or whether or not it would make his mistress looked bad.

 

“She’s been very kind,” Aidan answered vaguely.

 

“Where were you before this?” Gabe asked. They still stood in a line, ready to be called to attention if their owners wanted them.

 

“A moving company,” Aidan replied.

 

“You were a labor slave?” Amelie gasped, quietly of course. She drew back immediately, “You don’t look like a labor slave.”

 

“Thank you?”

 

“Really, so like, hauling furniture and everything?” Gabe questioned. Aidan flushed and bit his lip, before he realized such bad habits probably looked ill-mannered in front of two glossy bonafide luxury slaves.

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Gabe continued. “I’ve just never met a labor slave before.” He didn’t get to say any more than that because Sebastian shouted his name and held up his third empty glass.

 

Aidan saw his mistress spread out between Tom and Lady Olivia, laughing too loudly.

 

They next song came long on the movie and there was a collective gasp before the entire group of twenty-something started belching out another song for children. Aidan resisted covering his ears.

 

“You’re from an academy?” He asked Amy, and she nodded. She turned her wrist over so Aidan could see the blue bird tattooed on her wrist.

 

“The Sapphire Bird,” she said proudly.

 

“What was it like?” Aidan asked, because he’d heard about academies from his mistress so many times.

 

Gabe moved past them, three cocktails balanced in his hands.

 

“It was…” Amelie paused. “It’s hard to describe to someone who doesn’t know. It was lonely and crowded and competitive and I loved being there and I hated everything. I’m just proud to have finished.”

 

That didn’t help Aidan at all. That didn’t even make sense to Aidan.

 

“What did you do?”

 

For the first time, Amelie’s serene expression cracked a little.

 

“They buy you when you’re eight, right? But full training takes until eighteen and out of the forty who were originally in my class, only fifteen made it to the final year. It was very competitive and very rigorous, but it was home. I really can’t describe what it’s like to grow up in an academy. I could write books on it, but they would be the entire summary of my life.”

 

“You can write?” Aidan gasped. He couldn’t even read.

 

“I got a great education. I can write, read, and sing. I’ve read all the classics and everything, so that I can entertain my master with interesting conversation. I know how to cook and match wines with cheeses and how to dress, so I will always looks the best and be able to advise him when he plans events,” Amelie explained. “Sometimes I even forget about things I know how to do until someone brings it up again.”

 

“It was really competitive,” Aidan repeated, because she’d said it so many times. Somehow, he could see his mistress thriving off competition. Would she have to compete with the other trainers,  or would it just be putting the slaves through it? If she worked at an academy, did that mean he had to outclass slaves who were trained to be perfect from eight years old?

 

Aidan shivered.

 

“Two weeks before the final auction, one of the boys in my class, he was marked as an A, got dropped all the way to C. The boy who was at top of B class wanted his spot and purposefully tricked him into defying one of the trainers and…” Amelie  frowned. Actually frowned. “It was ugly.”

 

Aidan shivered again. Gabe fell back into line with them and Aidan didn’t ask Amy any more, nor did she seem to be in the mood to talk.

 

“You know what,” Gabe said, “maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they sold me.”

 

*

**Vic** had the noble intention of not getting too drunk when the party started. She promised herself she would keep an eye on Aidan and watch the way he behaved and reacted to company, and then Mason put another glass of wine in her hand. She had no idea how many that made, to be honest, but she felt great.

 

“I think you’re lying,” Vic teased. “You didn’t really say that.”

 

The cards they had been playing with were scattered uselessly across the table and stained with the bourbon Sebastian spilled and Amelie cleaned up. Thomas and Jennifer were engrossed in each other and Hector and Olivia had essentially checked out from the rest of the group to talk about nobles-only stuff. For all Vic knew, they were planning treason over the cake table.

 

There were empty plates everywhere, most still sticky with food residue. That wasn’t right. The slaves should have taken care of that. Vic was still kind of hungry, or maybe that was the alcohol talking.

 

“I did too,” Mason argued. “I said that if he had such a problem with being expected to act civil around the 'lower classes', maybe he was the one who wasn't fit for RUK.”

 

"I love that. I'll be mad if I find out you lied to me," Vic warned him, and Mason shrugged.

 

"Ask anyone."

 

Mother, he was cute. Cute and not afraid of her. It was kind of nice to be around a guy who wasn’t afraid of her.

 

Wait a second, Aidan. Where was Aidan?

 

Feeling nowhere near as nice as she had when the evening started, Vic lazily rolled her head over the back of the couch to look for her slave. Mason started running his thumb along her cheek and she let him, ignoring it more than anything, because she couldn’t see Aidan.

 

Amelie was still on her pretty knees, dabbing the bourbon stain with a dark towel and club soda. Where the shit did she get soda? Also, how nice was it that she knew how to clean up liquor stains? Vic bet she knew all sorts of tricks like that. Mother’s mercy, academy slaves were the fucking best.

 

Gabe was caught between the twins, Tom, and Jennifer. They were playing the letter game on him, which Vic thought was kind of cruel when they were all this drunk. She had her reservations about the letter game, anyway. Because sure, a player could pick ‘apple’ for A and hand feed their slave bites of apple, but the next person could pick ‘burn’ and when Sabrina and Sebastian were as judgement-impaired as they were, no one might stop them. Of course, Vic didn’t think any of her friends would ever pick cruel things for the letter game, and they wouldn’t think of awful things in the short seconds they had to come up with a word corresponding to their letter either.

 

To prove her point, Jennifer stalled on her turn and the letter L.

 

“L…” she drew out the ‘L’ sound with her tongue as she tried to think of a word. Either because she panicked as her time ended or because she was too impulsive, she ended on “Lay. Lay down.” It was obvious she was confused and slightly embarrassed by her choice as she said it, but Gabe dutifully laid down on the floor. Sabrina ran her fingers along his abdomen.

 

“Do you see Aidan?” Vic asked Mason, and he groaned.

 

“Stop thinking about your slave.”

 

“That slave is my career,” Vic said dramatically. She pushed herself off the couch and stumbled a little, and the righted herself on the coffee table before heading back into the main part of the house.

 

“I’ll come with you,” Mason said, getting ready to go after her.

 

“I don’t want you to spook him,” Vic returned. Seeing his drunk mistress with a man he didn’t know very well probably would spook him, but earnestly Mason was beginning to annoy Vic. Aidan not being where he was supposed to be was annoying her too. She left him grumbling as he wobbled up from the couch and Vic hastened—correction: stumbled—up the stairs with her hand on the railing for balance.

 

Aidan was in his room, laying on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head. He was mid-jump as Vic opened the door, and he clumsily settled to his knees. The awkward kneel and graceless attempt to recover himself was just one of the things that pissed Vic off in her drunken stupor. She had taught him better; he knew it; she knew it.

 

Too buzzed to find any sensitivity or eloquence, Vic said what she’d wanted to since pretty much the day she picked him up.

 

“What the fuck, Aiden?”

 

He cringed and lowered his head, but offered no explanation. Vic tried to reel herself in, knowing she was in no position she really attempt this right now. She sat down on the bed, almost flopping backwards to sleep on it when the spinning overwhelmed her.

 

“I’m not in good shape for this,” she confessed and Aidan looked up. Vic only saw him in pieces: the lip he was biting, the tension in his shoulder, the ways his eyes flicked from her to the floor to her.

 

He was afraid. Or nervous. Or something.

 

“Look, I’m drunk,” Vic said again once she recovered her train of thought. “But I’m not so drunk that I would forget dismissing you. Did I dismiss you, Aiden?”

 

He didn’t reply. He shifted on his knees and his expression flattened into something like resentment. That wasn’t good.

 

“I didn’t,” Vic continued. “I know that I did not. And Gabe and Amelie are downstairs but somehow, you, the host’s slave, vanished off to your room to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. What the shit? I’m not in the right mind to try to puzzle out your head, so I think we should just be candid and agree that you know that’s not okay. Right?” She was all set to continue blabbering too, when Aidan finally spoke.

 

“I didn’t think anyone would notice mistress, and there wasn’t anything for me to do, and you were…occupied.”

 

Fucking Mason.

 

“Of course there was something for you to do. There’s a room of drunk-as-shit college kids down there and you think there’s nothing for you to do? In about half an hour, most of the people down there are going to need cabs and possibly someone to hold their head. You think I’m going to do it? Look at me. You hear me right now?”

 

He smiled. Good, not fear, just resentment. She’d been spoiling him, which she knew, but she hadn’t expected this to happen so fast. In one dizzying moment, Vic started feeling like maybe she’d need someone to hold her hair.

 

“There’s something else, right?” She asked suddenly, because Aidan hadn’t been disobedient before and they’d been making such progress. Not true, Vic corrected herself. Cane debacle.

 

Aidan looked at the floor again and his hands tightened on his thighs.

 

“Aidan,” Vic groaned. “You can’t do this to me, right now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning, when I’m hungover, probably, but coherent. Get back downstairs and put Jen’s jacket somewhere she’ll find it before she leaves it here.”

 

Aidan grimaced and his jaw twitched. Vic had to get a hold of that asap. He was pissed, at being told to do something he already knew was expected of him.

 

“What would your former master have done if you wandered away from a job?” Vic asked, and Aidan grimaced. She used his shoulder to balance herself as she stood and didn’t miss when he pulled away from her.

 

She shouldn’t have had anything to drink. She knew better. She knew so much better. At Aidan’s first party, bedsides. At least he was probably right and no one had noticed he was missing.

 

Aidan went pale and stood to follow her with his hands clenched behind his back. Vic groaned aloud, but let him step out of the room before her.

 

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she assured him tomorrow. “And based on how that conversation goes, I’ll decide on your punishment.”

 

It would put him in a bad mood, but so would surprising him with a punishment tomorrow morning when he was used to getting no more than a scolding.

 

True to her expectations, Aidan’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

 

“Mistress,” he whined a little. “You’re drunk, maybe—”

 

What a little shit. Vic would’ve laughed, if she wasn’t so pissed.

 

“Which is why we’re not doing it tonight,” she cut him off. “Aidan, in the morning.”

 

She led him back downstairs, noticed only by Amelie, who still looked pristine despite the slovenliness around her. Blessings, who trained that girl?

 

Vic kept Aidan at her feet the rest of the night, rebuffing other people’s attempts to touch  him. She tried to stroke him, to show she wasn’t really angry, more like vexed, that she wasn’t going to flay him alive tomorrow. She just couldn’t wait any longer to punish him the first time. Her stayed tense under her hand, and subtly pulled away from her when he thought he could get away with it.

 

Ultimately, not how Vic had hoped this night would go. Unfortunate. 


End file.
